City of Recollection
by esmeandluna17
Summary: Clary did grow up in the Shadowhunter world. She did - that is - until she was 12. She grew up with the Lightwoods, and was trained as a Shadowhunter until the her father's evil plans frightened her mother - forcing her to take Clary away from the world she had always known. She forgets her friends. She forgets Jace. But what happens when she starts to remember?
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**__ Hey! So, this is my Mortal Instruments story which I have been writing for the past 7 months or so for Wattpad. But, seeing as I haven't used my Fanfiction account in __**ages, **__I thought I would put it up here. I won't be updating consistantly but I will try to update at least twice a month. Tell me if you like it! And follow me on Wattpad for more chapters (NerdFighter_17)_

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><p><em>"Clary!" A boy chasing after me screams. "Are you insane?!"<em>

_"Clary, you'll get yourself killed!" An Australian voice warns._

_ I giggle breathlessly, looking back over my shoulder at my four pursuers; I can't see their faces. My aching legs pick up the pace and I set my jaw in fierce determination. _I can do this.

_Suddenly, I stop. My previously blurred surroundings seem to wave for a moment before settling, and I am staring fixedly into a dark alleyway. I squint into the darkness; some part of me tensing for something but I can't see what. _

_"Clary!" A girl this time. I turn to my left towards the voice, hoping to place the person with a name; her voice sounds strangely familiar, like an echo. But just as I turn my head, long waves of curly red hair obscure my vision and I impatiently push it back with a black marked hand – marks like the white scars that adorn my skin. But the dark haired girl edges slowly towards the dark alley before I can see her face. What have I lured these people into? Something is definitely not right with whatever's in that alley. _

_I hear heavy footfalls slamming against the concrete, and I whip around. Three tall boys – about my age – stop next to me and for some reason, relief washes through me. Like the girl, a wall seems to be blocking me from seeing their faces and this annoys me. All I can tell is one has dark hair, one has brown and the other is blond. My heart rate quickens as I stare at the latter. _

_ A scream pierces the air as a menacing shape hurtles itself out of the shadows of the alleyway, taking down the girl. The boys shout something; her name presumably but I can't make out their voices over the screams of the girl and the viscous snarls of the monster. On instinct, I step forward and reach for an object fastened to my hip. But I stop myself. _

_I don't know her, why should I save her? But somewhere- something deep inside of me, screams at me to help the girl. In my dream, I know what to do. Something sparks in me. A fierce yearning to destroy that monster. To end the life of those who threaten my friends. Because that's what they are. _

_The dark haired boy who I can count on no matter what. The dark haired girl who is my best friend in the whole world. The brown haired boy who is like a brother to me. And the blond boy; the only boy I've ever loved. I know this much. But I've only ever seen them in my dreams; never even heard their names. Something blocks me from seeing their faces, as if one glance into their eyes will bring forbidden information to light. _

_The blond turns to me; golden eyes burning into mine. And the name comes to me. A whisper so quiet I have to strain to hear it but I do. It's a familiar name. A name that settle's comfortably on my heart that is hammering heavily in my chest. I mime the name – cautiously testing the winds. More confident, I whisper: _

_"Jace." And then I sink my sword – no, seraph blade - into the side of the ... demon, tortured wails ripping through the night air. _

I sit up in bed, the demon's wails still ringing in my ears. My breathing comes in quick gasps and my hands are fisting my dark green covers so tightly, my knuckles are white. My eyes slowly adjust to the darkness of my room and I blink the sleep out of my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. _Jace. _

I have been having the dreams for the past few months; just flashes of people and places. But that dream was the most vivid, the most startlingly _real. _They seem to appear in my dreams whenever I'm in trouble and I always know I can trust them, but never have I heard their names.

_Jace. _Of course that is his name. His face flashes in front of my eyes in the dark room, the first time I've ever actually seen his face. He has an angular face, beautiful, framed with fine, curly, golden blonde hair. He has tawny eyes; the deepest of honeys with an unforgotten past hidden in the darker pits of his pupils. He's so beautiful, he doesn't seem real, but I know he is. No one could be this vivid in a mind for so long. I must have met him before

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><p>"I'm going out!" I scream up the stairs, pulling on my jacket and doing the laces up on my boots. "I'll be back before seven!" Turning to the door, I swing my bag across my shoulder and stuff my keys in my jean pocket.<p>

"Clary, wait," My mother appears on the stairs, a dripping paintbrush in her hand; her dark red hair threatening to fall out of a bun that rests on the nape of her neck. "You can't go." I blink up at her.

"Why? Simon – I've already told him I'd go with him to Java Jones," I stare up at her, my hand resting hopefully on the brass door handle. My mother sighs and runs her hand through her hair. I notice the white marks similar to my own decorate her hands but I refrain from commenting on them now.

"Clary, we're going to the farm house this evening. Luke is arriving in an hour." An outraged cry escapes my lips and I childishly stamp my foot.

"Mom, I paid for all those art classes. You can't just take me away from the city whenever you feel like it," I complain. My slight British accent seeps through as I whine; I had been brought up in England but moved to New York when I was twelve. I can't remember anything of the place as there are no photos or videos; just an accent I had acquired whilst I had been living there but it had faded more over the last four years.

"I'm sorry, Clary. I know how long you saved up. I know what it meant to you."

"No, you don't. If you did you wouldn't drag me away just to spend a week in some run down shack in the middle of nowhere." I drag a hand through my hair like my mother does when she's stressed. "I'm not a kid anymore, Mom. You can't protect me forever." I pull the door open and turn back to her. "I'll be back by seven." I whisper before stepping out into the hall.

"I know I can't protect you forever, Clary. That's what I'm afraid of." I hear her say before I slam the door.

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><p>Simon stares at me with obvious concern as I sit with my head in my hand, absently tracing patterns on to the chipped, tea stained table. Eric drones on in the background; my ears prickling at the squealing feedback from the microphone.<p>

"Clary!" Simon shouts and my head snaps up in alarm.

"What?"

"You were completely out of it." I sigh and sink back in my chair, bringing my mug to my lips and sipping the cold coffee. I study the white marks that litter my hands. They stretch over my arms and over my back and shoulders too; even delicately wrapping around my stomach and up the back of my neck. My mother told me I had burnt myself badly when I was younger; when I had made my own bath at the age of six early in the morning when she had been sleeping, and jumped in without hesitation, burning myself all over. But now at the age of fifteen, the story seemed so ridiculous I didn't dare question my mother's story, scared she would get upset. The marks were too pretty and deliberate to have been burns, and anyway, didn't she have them too? Didn't the three people in my dreams have black patterns painting their skin?

"Clary, come on. I know you had a fight with your mom, but it's hardly anything new is it? I mean," He explains, eyes widening at the glare I shoot him. "She's always been a bit overprotective of you and, come on, you're fifteen, what did she expect? You've got to get out and have fun sometimes," I look around the crowded room, my eyes resting on Eric who has started a new poem about a guy and a girl who fall in love but the girl's parents take her away, blah blah blah.

"Fun? You call this _fun_?" Simon rolls his eyes and takes his glasses off of his nose; reaching for his shirt and starting to clean the lenses with the worn material.

"He's not that bad," He half-heartedly defends his friend. I raise my eyebrows.

"Yeah, and you're not the worst liar in the world." Simon guffaws silently, shaking his head with a small smile. "What's the time?" He places his glasses back on his nose clumsily and looks down at his watch.

"6," He replies as I reach across the table to adjust his glasses which are slipping down his nose. Simon blinks rapidly in surprise; flushing a light pink as my fingers brush his cheek. I internally giggle at his bashfulness.

"Thanks," I rock back on to the precarious legs of my chair and wrap my fingers against the table for support. "I want to go." Simon groans.

"Clary, I can't just leave halfway through Eric's performance," He says resolutely and I pout.

"Please?" He shakes his head, crossing his arms across his chest and biting his lip. "Pretty please?" I bat my eyelashes. I can literally see any resolve melt from him. Simon sighs and throws his head back so the dim light above reflects in his glasses.

"Fine." I grin, but my eyes are drawn to just above Simon's shoulder. The front legs of my chair fall to the ground with a loud crash. There in the corner of the room, underneath the Special Meals board, is a girl. She's looks to be about eighteen with long mahogany hair and a slightly green tinge to her skin, but most noticeably, bright green eyes. There are no whites of her eyes, just the same startling lime green. I look towards Simon, trying to catch his eye but he's staring intently at the menu board above the girl's head. We both stand up and pull on our jackets.

"Simon, look at her," I whisper, nudging him with my elbow and incline my head toward the girl. Simon stares blankly at the corner and frowns.

"There's no one there, Clary," I look up at his face, sure he isn't looking in the right direction but sure enough, he is staring right into the apparently empty corner. I shake my head. _Think up something or he'll think you're going crazy. _

"No, Simon," I sigh dramatically, pushing his chin to the right a little so he's looking at a relatively pretty girl; her head buried in a comic. "Your type of girl?" Simon flushes and stares down at me with incredulous eyes.

"Are you kidding me?" He says. "You're trying to match-make me now?" I chuckle, sifting through my bag for my phone and turning it on. My Mom has tried calling me three times.

"Fine, fine. I thought Eric had been trying to set you up with someone, that's all. Doesn't everyone else in the band have a girlfriend?" Simon purses his lips.

"Yeah, but I'm waiting for someone," He mutters and I raise my eyebrows.

"Oh, are you now? This is the first I've heard of this." My eyes flicker to the girl. "Come on, who is she?"

Simon doesn't respond. "It is a _she, _right?" He shoots me a horrified glare.

"YES!" He cries and I burst out laughing; throwing my head back. "You know what, I think I'll stay. You go home if you want," He looks at me for a second, as if deliberating something, before smiling slightly and disappearing into the tight crowd. I almost go after him, scared I've offended him, but I decide against it.

My gaze returns to the girl in the corner who grins back at me. She beckons me over and for a moment, the rational part of me hesitates. I don't know this girl yet it seems like she knows me. It also seems I'm the only one who can actually see her. But something seems so intriguing and familiar about her. With a deep breath, I walk cautiously over to the menu board.

"Clary Fairchild," The girl says almost teasingly, in a thick British accent. She smirks, examining me over the top of her clasped green tinged hands. I shudder involuntarily and pretend to be reading the Menu board. "It's been a while. I must say you grew into quite a pretty little thing."A flush of anger runs through me at being called 'little' however, I know it's true: I only stand at 5"2.

"Fray," I correct her out the corner of my mouth. The girl raises a dark eyebrow.

"Fray?" She frowns and tilts her head."Clary _Fray_?"

"How do you know my name?"

"Wha- I mean, it's been a while, Clary, but I thought-"She looks me over with her lime green eyes. "It's me, Indie; don't you recognise me, Clary?" I look down at her with wide eyes.

"Should I?" Indie looks back at me, startled and upset.

"Clary, w-what happened?" I resist the urge to cry out with frustration. What's happening to me?

"What happened? I'm not sure! One second, I'm just a normal girl and the next I'm seeing people with marks like my scars, running around chasing monsters and a girl who knows my name yet I don't know who in the world she is!" I keep my voice hushed, not wanting anyone to overhear but when the girl lets out a sob, I look around the busy cafe, in fear that she was heard.

"Clary," She whispers, horrified. "Clary, have your memories been wiped?" My body freezes, images flooding into my mind with a powerful surge. I fall into a chair at her table; placing my head in my hands as a tall Asian man with yellow, cat like eyes enters my head. I hear murmured voices, and can easily pick out my mother's from the chaos but there are men's voices too – the hushed outrage of a man with a normally calming tone. Luke.

I can see blinding colours; reds, greens, blues and purples, all flashing behind my eyelids like fireworks. My mother half dragging a thirteen year old me down a street as she assures me I didn't see a fairy, I'm just being silly. My mother watching me quietly as I examine my scars; recreating the patterns on a piece of paper. I see the man again – a cat sitting in my lap as I read one of my comics.

"Clary," I hear my mother say. I look up at her. My hair comes to my jaw and I think I must be about fourteen.

"Yes?"

"Come in the kitchen a second, Sweetie," I obey – walking into the kitchen and smiling at the man in whose house I am in.

"Magnus, what do you-?" And then a flash of blinding blue light, and then darkness.

I hear Simon's voice booming from across the room. I'm too overwhelmed to say anything, staring at the table in confusion and shock.

"Clary?" Indie asks and she leans forward. "Do the Lightwood's know you're in the city?"

"Who are the Lightwood's?" I ask faintly as I look up at her through my eyelashes. Indie looks like she is about to cry.

"Jace, I-"

"Jace?" I ask suddenly? "You know someone called Jace?" Indie nods feverishly, desperately grasping at anything I remember.

"Jace Lightwood. Wayland." Indie's mouth twitches. "Whatever."

"Is he blond?"

"Yeah."

"Gold eyes?"

"Yep."

"Black marks on his skin?"

"Yeah, well, they're not always black. When he's not fighting they're white –"

"Like mine?" I demand and look her directly in her lime green eyes.

"Yes, like yours." She looks at me, worried. "Clary, I need to speak to your mum, okay?" My stomach contracts.

"Why?"

"Clary, you've had your mind wiped. You have memories locked inside of your head which you need to unlock. You need to remember who you are." I gulp.

"I'm Clary Fray. I'm fifteen years old, sixteen in a week. My mother's called Jocelyn Fray. My best friend is called Simon Lewis. I draw." I hesitate. "Okay, I draw _a lot_. I'm your typical teenage girl. I don't have this crazy life that I don't know about." Indie drags a hand across her face in exhaustion.

"You're Clary Fairchild or Morgenstern. You're fifteen years old, sixteen on the 17th of August. Your mother's called Jocelyn Fairchild. Your best friend _was_ Isabelle Lightwood. You draw _a lot_. You're _not_ a typical teenage girl." _Isabelle? _Wait...

"What am I then?" I snap, glaring at Indie.

"A Shadowhunter. " My head seems fit to burst; memories flooding through carefully placed barriers. Memories of people. Memories of places. Memories of me.

"Oh." I whisper.

_Please review! Thank you. _


	2. Chapter 2

_Second chapter because I couldn't resist :) Have a good weekend._

"Give me your phone, Clary," Indie commands, holding out a green tinted hand. I shove the phone into her hand blindly and try to focus on some memories that are still flooding into my brain like a tsunami; quick and seemingly never ending. To any onlooker, I must seem mad; talking to myself with my head in my hands. Maybe I am mad. Maybe this is just a bad dream.

"Jocelyn?" I hear Indie say softly into my phone. "Jocelyn! Jocelyn, what's happening?" My head snaps up so fast, my neck cricks but I don't even wince in pain.

"What's wrong?" I ask Indie, desperately. "What's happening?" Indie stares me blankly in the eyes, her own filling up with tears.

"Jocelyn, what do I do? Where do I take her? Do I take her to Mag- JOCELYN!" She cries and I knock over her mug in surprise. It smashes on the floor and tiny shards of white china dance across the wooden floor. My phone screams in Indie's ear but she doesn't pull it back; she listens intently with her hand over her mouth. "Jocelyn?"

"Mom?" Indie hangs up and drops the phone on the table. She lets out a rattling breath. "What's happened, Indie?"

"Clary – Clary, I'm so sorry," Indie sniffs, her head in her hands.

"What happened to my mom?" I demand.

"He took her."

"Who took her?" My hands begin to shake and my skin starts to burn. "_Who took her_?" I repeat.

"Valentine," She whispers, and with that, I run from the cafe; my mind swarming with new memories.

The door of our apartment is hanging off of its hinges precariously; the soft green colour my mother had painted it, is clawed and chipped like an animal has attacked it. My heart beats unevenly in my chest as I draw nearer and step timidly into my hallway. The rug on the floor is crumpled and dirty, and my mother's paintings have fallen off of the wall and litter the floor. I step between the rubble of the crumbling wall and make my way cautiously into the kitchen.

My mother's china is scattered all over the floor, the blinds over the windows are hanging off of one hinge and the glass windows to the cabinets have been smashed in completely. But my eyes are dawn to the floor. I remember about a year ago, Luke and his friend Alaric had come round and retiled the kitchen. I had constantly complained about the noise and the dust that had settled on just about everything in the apartment. But the previously black, cold tiles were replaced with sterile white tiles. It made the kitchen look more modern and I thought it had opened up the kitchen considerably. But now, the contrast of the white tiles and scarlet liquid running through the cracks in between the tiles, makes me want to hurl.

"MOM!" I scream, running out of the kitchen and down the hall. "Mommy?" A line of red extends down the wall, like something was dragged against it. I swallow the bile rising in my throat and grab painful fistfuls of my curly red hair. My back crashes against the wall and I slide, to the floor with my fist stuffed in my mouth to stop me from screaming.

My mother's gone. She's _gone_.

A loud crashing sound from the bathroom makes me freeze. I push myself to my feet and slowly back into my mother's room, shutting the door and locking it behind me. I haven't been in my mother's room in... forever; I've _never_ been in my mother's room. Her room is the same size as mine and it seems like one of the only rooms to be untouched by whatever has taken my mother. Unlike mine, her room is organised, with her perfume and make-up placed on a vanity table in neat lines and her bed covers pulled tightly so there isn't a crease.

I retreat further into the room and look desperately for something to arm me against whatever's outside the room. I frantically tug open draws at random, searching for anything that could class as a weapon. When I find nothing, I turn to the old, oak wardrobe and seize the brass handles. Inside is a curtain of black clothes which I find odd: my mother never wears black. The materials are tough but flexible and feel comforting under my touch.

_Bang. Bang. Bang. _Loud footfalls remind me that I'm sharing an apartment with my mother's potential abductor. I fall to my knees and search the dark foot of the closet, hoping to find a trunk of some sort. I do. My trembling hands snap off a weak lock, I lift a heavy lid up and I grope frenetically into the depths of the box. I find purchase on a hard metal case and I hopefully drag it out from the shadows. It's heavier than I thought it would be and I have to use all my remaining strength to lift it out of the trunk. The handle on the door begins to rattle, my heart quickens considerably. _I'm going to die. _

With fumbling fingers, I snap the bronze catches and push the lid up to reveal... a seraph blade, like the one from my dream. I blink, surprised at my luck. _I'm not going to die. _A voice in my head says, as I grip the handle of the blade with surprising confidence and certainty. A gasp escapes my lips as the blade seems to buzz with the energy of being held; I can guess it hasn't been used in a while. My skin tingles with adrenaline as I gaze in wonder at the sword. It feels so natural to feel the heavy weight of the jewelled blade; it feels like coming home. _I'm not going to die. _I think and turn to the door with a fierce determination and confidence I've only ever had in my dreams.

_I'm not going to die. _With an ear splitting screech, my mother's bedroom door is torn from its hinges and I'm faced with the ugliest thing I've ever seen in my life. It is a long scaled, scorpion type creature but it's huge. It has shiny scales that coat its back like armour with a cluster of wide unblinking eyes, set in the middle of its domed head. It slithers forward on multiple legs like an alligator crossed between a centipede. It has a sense of stealth and magnitude no creature in the animal kingdom could compete with. A barb-wire type tail swishes dangerously as it crawls forward; bearing its many rows of yellow fangs which are dripping with a green glue like substance.

I'm frozen in place thinking how ridiculous I must look. A skinny, little red- head holding a long blade that is too heavy for her to carry and way out of proportion with her scrawny body – not to mention she doesn't have a clue how to use it- facing a huge monster with a clear advantage on her.

The creature advances into the room, hissing and spitting. I swallow. My blade sends a reassuring buzz up my arm and I look down at it in confusion. It's prompting me to do something; something I've forgotten to do. I've realised this isn't the first time I've held this blade – _my_ blade- but I don't stop to think about it.

"_Almace_," I whisper. The blade seems to awaken; glowing a brilliant silvery colour. _You're going to live. _It seems to croon. Strength flows through my blood and I glare ferociously at the beast. My heart seems to drop to the pits of my stomach as the monster suddenly pounces at the wall, hanging there for a moment like a bat. My eyes follow it. _I'm going to die_. I reply to my blade, shaking my head.

The monster swings its tail upwards, almost hitting itself in the head with its tail. I am almost positive is poisonous. _You're going to live._ The blade whispers. _How? How am I supposed to beat that?_ The monster crawls along the wall, circling me; I don't lose eye contact. _You're going to live. _

The monster pauses and then hisses through its stained teeth: "You'll go the same way as your mother."

_You're right, you're going to die. _The blade says as I draw it back over my head. _Not if I can help it. _

The monster pounces on me; tail swishing, teeth bared, claws extended. A scream rips through the air as I bring the blade down, and I realise it was me who screamed. The blade swishes through the air without making contact and I curse under my breath.

"You think you can beat me?" A voice to my right says and I spin around to stare at the creature. The blade begins to slide through my sweaty hands but I tighten my hold. The creature scuttles across the floor to the other side of the room, hissing ferociously. The underside of its body is fleshy; black skin unprotected by the hard armour on its back. "You can't beat me, little girl. You are most like your mother; depending on others to protect her and doing nothing for herself."

A flash of anger courses through me. My mother had brought me up; paying for my expensive ballet classes when I was thirteen and earning money to keep a roof over our heads. She did everything for me. A snarl escapes through my lips and the creature hisses in response. It pounces onto my mother's vanity table; bottles of perfume smashing on the floor, sending the strong familiar smell of my mother dancing around the room. The comforting smell awakes my senses. I know what to do.

"You're right," I whisper, dropping the blade to the floor, my shoulders slumping. "I'm going to die anyway, right?"

"Right," The beast growls and drops to the ground just in front of me. I fall to my knees and bow my head in defeat. My hands rest on the floor next to me; the hilt of _Almace _resting gently under my finger tips.

"Do it," I say, looking up at the monster. "Do it now."

"With pleasure." A malicious glint appears in each eye on the front of the beast's domed head and I see my own defeated expression reflected in each. It rears up, exposing its stomach, tail swishing dangerously close to my body. In one quick motion, my hand is around the hilt of the blade again, buzzing at the exhilaration of the hunt. With a deafening roar, the monster flails its barbed tail; my blade sticking out of its chest; rubies gleaming in the setting sun. I pull myself to my feet, only to be knocked down again with a sharp blow to my side – searing pain shooting through my body. My screams and the beast's wails pierce through the silent apartment.

"Clary!" I hear a feminine voice scream. "CLARY!" My heavy eyelids open to see Indie standing in the doorway. "Oh my-"She whispers, staring at the monster. It begins to crumple in on itself; shrivelling up. Its tortured cries hurt my ears so badly; I have to encase my them with my hands like I did when I was little. And then it's gone. Disappeared. Vanished.

"You killed – you killed a Ravener Demon," Indie stutters and helps me to my feet; my hands pressed tightly against the side of my waist. "You – you-"

"Indie, I know," A burst of pain shoots up my side and I pull back my hands back to see a thick, red liquid staining my palms and fingers.

"Clary, we need to get you out of here," Indie says, panic seeping through her words. I nod wordlessly; terror and pain rushing through me.

"Where are we going?" I ask, weakly.

"The Institute," Indie answers, staring at me expectantly. " Clary, are you okay, you're bleeding?" I nod my head and spot the seraph blade lying, discarded, beside my mother's bed. I limp over to the blade and bend down to retrieve it. "Clary!" Indie gasps as my body falls, crumpling to the ground. A scream rips through my body, and it feels like someone is slashing at my side with a blunt sword.

A high pitch ringing fills my ears and my throat stings from my tortured screams. I can feel a warm, wet liquid pooling around me; a puddle of crimson blood. My heart stutters in my chest.

I hear Indie cry, but her voice seems miles away; a faint whisper. A new voice – a man's voice – replies but I can't make out the words.

"HELP ME!" I scream as strong arms slide under my back and legs. My eyes open a fraction, to see a pair of familiar yellow cat eyes staring back at me with concern.

"Magnus?" I whisper. And then the pain becomes too much, and darkness overcomes me.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Because I'm feeling generous. :)_**

_"JACE!" I yell, running through a meadow with grass that is so long, it brushes against my shoulders. I am even shorter than I am normally, about the height of your average eleven year old. "Jace, slow down, you're going too fast!" I hear a soft, hearty laugh from behind me and I whip around to see Jace standing with a lazy smirk on his flawless face. He's younger looking; less runes mark his skin and his face is a little rounder._

_"No, you're just too slow," He says, twisting a small, emerald encrusted dagger in his long fingers. I glower at him. "You just have abnormally short legs" _

_"You just have abnormally long legs," I whine in a stronger British accent then I usually have. Jace chuckles. _

_A loud bang erupts overhead and it's suddenly raining; pouring down heavily on our heads. I sigh. _

_"We should get back, Jace," I say as lightning lights up the gloomy sky. "Come on, Jace!" I reach out to grab his hand but he stares fixedly at the end of the meadow- towards the road that leads back to the Institute. "Jace?" I pin a piece of dark, wet, red hair out of my eyes. _

_"We need to leave," He murmurs, turning to me and grabbing me by the upper arm. _

_"Thank you!" I exclaim and hurry to keep up with him. "What's wrong?" His tight grip on my arm begins to hurt and I try to pull my arm back. "Jace, you're hurting me!" Jace stops and sharply turns his head towards the old oak tree we had engraved with our initials a few years back. I follow his gaze. _

_A dark silhouette is leaning on the trunk of the tree-arms crossed, filing their nails with his stele. Jace steps protectively in front of me and pulls his seraph blade from the sheath strapped to his hip; warning me under his breath to stay behind him. _

_"Ahh." The person breathes, walking out of the shadows as we come nearer. Jace stays a step ahead of me, shaking his wet hair out of his eyes when we step under the thick canopy of leaves. "Jace, Clarissa." The person – a tall, toned boy – walks forward with a sly, smirk that twists his features; his arms crossed across his broad chest. He has pale skin which is relatively rosy compared to his platinum hair. He has a flawless, handsome face with black, bottomless eyes framed with long eyelashes. _

_"What are you doing here?" Jace demands and pushes me back behind him so I am out of view of the boy. _

_"Do I need a reason to visit my sister and, for all intents and purposes, my brother?" Jace growls under his breath. _

_"I'm not your brother," He spits. The boy laughs without humour; an intense glint in his black eyes. _

_"I don't think it's me you don't want to be related to." The boy looks at me with a teasing smile. "I think that you don't want to be my brother because that would mean your Clarissa's brother too." Jace growls again but doesn't deny it. "You like her don't you, Jacey?" The boy teases. _

_"You see, that's where you're wrong," Jace retorts. An unfamiliar jab of pain shoots through me and I look up at Jace with hurt eyes. "I _love_ Clary." The boy laughs. My heart hammers in my chest. "Yes, I don't want to think of her as my sister. But I'd rather think of her as my sister than you as my brother." The laughter stops and the boy glares at Jace. _

_"Jace," I warn. I know he has gone over some sort of line; an invisible barrier which keeps the boy – my brother – calm and collected. "Jace, come on." I tug desperately on Jace's arm. "Please, Jace. I want to go." Jace finally breaks eye contact with my brother and looks down at me with dark eyes. My brother's eyes. This isn't Jace – Jace is gone. He grabs my wrist in a vice like grip. "Let go of me." I say breathlessly, trying to twist out of his hold. _

_"Now, Clarissa, play nice," He whispers in my ear. His arms wrap tightly around my shoulders and he points towards the other end of the meadow. Jace is standing there, throwing himself desperately against some invisible barrier. _

_"JACE!" I scream and try to pull myself out of the boys grip. He's older and taller than me – I'm fighting a losing battle. "Jace," I whisper, defeated. Jace screams with fury as he throws his shoulder once again, against the invisible wall. _

_The rain has ceased. In fact, the long grass that we're standing in feels dry, parched even. "Please," I mutter as Jace crumples to the ground; his hand resting on the barrier that separates us. _

_"What, Clarissa?" The boy asks, smoothly. The grass that brushes against my shoulders starts to buzz; warmth flowing through each strand. _

_"Please, let him go. Please," The boy starts to laugh again- his body shaking. The grass rustles and the warmth intensifies. "What are you doing?" I ask. _

_"Nothing, Clarissa," He drawls. I don't believe him of course. And that's when I see it. A flicker of red, out of the corner of my eye. _

_"JACE!" I scream. The grass on the other side of the barrier – the side Jace is caught in – has turned to flames. I sink my elbow into my brother's stomach and he releases me from his tight grip. "JACE!" My cries seem to echo around my head, and I can't see anything but smoke and flames. "JACE!" _

_"CLARY!" I hear him rasp. "Clary, run!" I can't see anything. I can't see my brother. I can't see Jace. _

_And then all I can see is darkness. And all I can hear is Jace screaming my name, the smell of burning grass and flesh, fresh in my nostrils. _

"Jace!" I cry, sitting bolt upright. I clutch at the unfamiliar purple, velvet covers and draw my knees up to my chest. Where am I? My anxious eyes dart around the room; my head rushing with dizziness. I'm lying in a large four-poster bed, standing in the middle of a dimly lit room. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I can make out many paintings around the room; many handing on the maroon walls, others sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall. These paintings tell me I can trust whoever's brought me here. Because these paintings are my mother's work.

The soft brush strokes with her elegant signature in the bottom right-hand corner. The same scenes: rich woodlands, tall magnificent buildings and peaceful lakes. These are all my mother's paintings. This is the person who buys my mom's work; the person who has kept us alive for the past four years.

"Clary, are you awake?" A voice asks as the door opens, sending bright light dancing into the room. Indie looks around the door – her green eyes squinting in the darkness. "Clary?"

"I'm awake," I reply. Indie pushes open the door wider and enters the room quietly. She's wearing white skinny jeans and a tight fitting navy blue top, which seems to ripple like water in the twilit room. "How long was I out?" Indie perches herself on the edge of the bed; studying me anxiously.

"About a day," She says. "How do you feel?" Like one of those cartoon characters with those birds that fly around their heads and that lump, the size of an egg, protruding from their skull.

"Fine," I lie. "What happened?"

"You were attacked by a Ravener demon," She explains. "You killed it. I mean, I've watched you kill demons before but you've forgotten all your training! You just seemed to remember and act on pure instinct. But you got hit just before it died and, well, demon venom is very poisonous-"

"I've had training in killing things?" Indie nods. "I've killed more than once?" My head swims with unpleasant images of screaming creatures; begging for a quick death that will never come.

"Clary," Indie says softly. "You're a Shadowhunter. It's what you were brought up to do."

"To be a cold-blooded murderer?"

"No. To protect the ones you love," She answers. "That and the fact that you are – were one of the best Shadowhunters of your generation." I drag a blistered and bruised hand across my face.

"Where am I?"

"Magnus Bane's apartment," My eyes narrow. "The High Warlock of Brooklyn." I nod, scratching some dried blood off of my arm.

"He's the one that took my memories, right?"

Indie hesitates, "Yeah."

"Can I have them back?" I try not to let any sarcasm or frustration seep through my words but it's hard to stop.

"Clary, it's not that simple. You-"

"Oh, I'm sorry," I roll on to my knees and clasp my hands in front of me. "Oh, Mr high and mighty Warlock of Brooklyn, would you please, please, please give back the memories that you stole from my twelve year old head? You see, I need them to save my mother. She's been taking by some psycho-maniac."

"Most people don't physically get on their knees, but the wording was pretty accurate," a smooth, deep voice drawls. A tall Asian man with dark hair that flops in his gold, feline eyes, enters the room; a tabby cat held in his arms.

"Magnus?" I ask. It seems silly to me now, that I could ever forget someone like him; someone who I used to be close to, in the times that I knew him. Four years. Four meetings come rushing to me with one glance into his eyes. But I feel like I've known him longer.

The cat – Chairman Meow – jumps out of his arms and pounced up on to the dark covers. I remember now. "Magnus!" I cry, jumping down off of the bed and stumbling over to him. He seems surprised when my arms wrap tightly around his waist – standing there rigidly but I soon feel his arms wrap softly around my shoulders.

"It's good to see you too, Clary," he murmurs into my tangled hair. I pull back with a shy smile and a faint blush covering my cheeks. Magnus chuckles.

"How long do you think she needs to recover?" Indie asks, twirling a lock of chocolate coloured hair between her fingers. Magnus studies me for a second.

"How do you feel, Clary?" I can't lie this time.

"I feel like I've been hit over the head with a sledgehammer," I say as I rub my fingers tips against my temples, in the hope of soothing the pain. "But, other than that, I feel fine." Magnus nods.

"I would say another day of rest at the least."

"Ok, do y-" Indie begins.

"But I have to find my mom!" I cry. "She's been taken and I'm the only one who can find her."

"Not the only one," Magnus says lightly. "You are blind at the moment, Clary, but it hasn't always been that way. The people who you trust the most, aren't what they seem."

"Well, I trust you-"

"Yes, and it's quite obvious that I'm not human, isn't it?" Magnus smiles. "I'm a Warlock."

"I'm a Nixie," Indie says, bored, examining her nails. It occurs to me, that I haven't asked Indie how I know her. I'll ask her later.

"Yes, but is there anyone else?" Magnus and Indie exchange a wary glance.

"Clary, it's not for us to sa-"

"I have to know! I have to get my mom back!" A sudden thought occurs to me. "I need to see Luke," My mind whirls. Luke. Why hadn't I thought of him before? My mother's best friend? The closest to a father I've ever gotten?

"Lucian?" Indie asks, surprised. "You're in contact with Lucian Graymark, still?"

"Garroway. Luke Garroway. And what do you mean 'still'? Why shouldn't I be?" And then a thought – a horrible, unimaginable idea – reached the dark, carefully built barrier in my mind. I swallow the disgusted lump in my throat. "What is he?" I whisper.

"A werewolf," Magnus answers. My head begins to throb with the pain and I feel my knees hit the hard frame of the bed. Sinking on to the mattress, I rest my head in my hands.

"I knew, didn't I?" I breathe. "I've always known?" Indie places a hand on my arm, consolingly.

"You were brought up in England, In the London institute," I don't even bother to ask her what an 'institute' is. "Your mother was on the run from Valentine... your father." Valentine. My father. The person who had taken my mother. The person who had killed –

"Max," I look up at Indie. "Valentine killed Max. Alec, Isabelle and Jace's little brother?" She nods.

"He was as much your brother as theirs. But yes, he was killed when you were twelve."

"Valentine found out where you were and sought to bring you both back; taking down anyone who stood in his way. Your mother couldn't risk having what happened to Max, happen to anyone else because of her. She couldn't risk it anymore. She had tried to bring you up in the Shadowhunter world but she just couldn't risk your lives anymore than she already had.

"The only way she could make sure you – and your friends – were completely safe, was if you forgot all about them and everything else. She brought you to America – slipping you a sleeping potion or else you never would have come. She found me, and asked me to erase all of your memories of the world you were brought up in." Magnus explains, settling himself in a plush armchair in the corner of the room. "Not every spell is as perfect, so flawless, as the one I put on you." I remember the last time I saw Jace; his golden eyes like melted butter.

"Jace?" I look at Indie expectantly.

"The Lightwoods remained in England for two years before moving to the New York Institute," She says, cautiously.

"They're here? In New York?" It's weird to think of Jace, Isabelle and Alec as real people; people who I could actually meet. Well, meet _again_. This is just getting confusing.

"They don't know you are here. Believe me, if they did, Jace would have barged down the door if he even heard a whisper of your whereabouts. I would have come sooner. I thought you didn't want to be found." The thing is, I didn't remember what I should have been missing.

"Isabelle?" My best friend. What happened to her?

"She's ok. Her fighting seemed to get less tactical since you left; less accurate. That's because of the Parabatai bond you two have. But she fights with a fierce determination only a girl who's been through what she has, could have."

"Alec?" Magnus seems to flinch with annoyance.

"Oh, he's fine," Magnus drawls with clenched teeth. "Probably with some-"

"Magnus," Indie warns. "Ignore him, he's sulking." A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.

Another face flashes in my mind; the brown haired boy with the Australian accent. Who was he, if not a Lightwood? And who was this boy who had claimed to be my brother? I battle internally with the barrier but it doesn't budge.

"So, what do I do?" I ask them.

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to see the Lightwoods," Indie smiles and Magnus raises an eyebrow. "But I need to see Luke first."

"I'll come with you," Indie offers, grinning. We both turn to Magnus who stares back at us evenly.

"No," he says and shakes his head. "I'm not coming with you to see and werewolf and that two face-" Indie coughs. "Fine, I'll come but don't expect me to be nice."

"You? Not nice?" Indie retorts. "Never."


	4. Chapter 4

**_Happy Saturday! Ah, I live for the weekends. _**

"Luke?" I blindly run my hand along the wall to my right, trying to find the light switch.

"Here," Indie murmurs, thrusting a hard, cool rock into my hand.

"What is it?"

"Witchlight. Every Shadowhunter has one. That one was Lucian's." Indie pauses. "It doesn't work when I hold it, though."

"Give it here," Magnus takes the smooth rock from my hand and holds it up into the darkness. Almost instantly, a brilliant scarlet light breaks through the darkness revealing the state of Luke's living room.

The many book shelves that line the walls are on the floor; books scattered everywhere. The couch and chairs are torn with huge gashes ripped down the backs. There is glass smashed on the floor that shimmers like rubies in the red witchlight.

"Luke?" I whisper, my voice breaking with anxiety. "Luke!" I cry and a hand clamps tightly over my mouth.

"Clary, be quiet," Indie commands, reprovingly. "They might still be here."

"Who?" I mumble into her hand. She removes it slowly, frowning.

"Whoever's done this." Magnus gestures to the wrecked room and leads the way into the kitchen.

The house is completely empty. No sign of Luke or the people who've trashed his house anywhere. Not in the living room. Not in the kitchen. Not in the bathroom. Not in the bedrooms. Nowhere.

"Maybe he's in his bookstore," I suggest and so we walk down Luke's driveway towards his store; entering quietly. Voices fill the dark, eerie building; passing down through the ceiling. I point upwards and Indie and Magnus nod in understanding.

"I'll go first," Magnus whispers before leading the way up the creaking stairs.

Upstairs is where Luke keeps all books that he keeps for himself and me. When he brings in new orders or donations, he sorts through every one, leaving out ones which he thinks I will enjoy. I've probably read more books than every person my age in New York. You name it, I've probably read it.

Shelves of books line the walls; cardboard boxes are scattered about the floor with books spilling over the tops. The voices grow louder, clearer too.

"Come on, Lucian. We haven't got all day," A raspy, thick voice drawls. My hand grips around the hilt of my blade, strapped to my hip.

"Where is the cup, Lucian?" Another similar voice adds.

"It's the Pangborn brothers," Indie whispers next to me.

"Who?" Indie shakes her head.

"I'll tell you later."

"I told you, I don't know," Luke's deep, calm tone replies. His voice wavers slightly though, as if he's choked or in pain. My heart wrenches. I can't lose another parent. Luke's the only one I have left.

"Magnus," I plead. "Please. You have to help him." Magnus looks back at me.

"Seriously, Clary?" I nod, fervently. "You're seriously asking me to save a werewolf?"

"Yes, I am." Magnus pauses, as if to check for certain I'm not joking, then sighs.

"The things I do," He murmurs under his breath. "You owe me big, Clary."

"You took away my memories," I say, "I don't owe you anything."

Magnus looks pained for a moment before pushing up his dark sleeves and disappearing around the corner of a tall bookshelf in a swish of black cloak.

Indie grabs my arm. "We need to go."

"Why? We need to wait for –"She shakes her head.

"There are werewolves, Shadowhunters and warlocks in this room; I don't want to be here when they come face to face. Too much drama for me. Too much drama for an untrained Shadowhunter." It seems strange to think that's what I am: a Shadowhunter.

"But-"

"Clary, trust me on this. Do as you're told for once." For the first time, Indie looks threatening. I nod silently, and follow her out of the door.

When we reach the staircase, a loud cry pierces the air.

"Luke," I whisper, turning back towards the room. "LUKE!"

"CLARY, NO!" Indie calls after me as I retreat back into the room. Panic building, I sprint round the book shelves and head towards the sound of the cry. I chance a glance down each aisle, seeing nothing but towers of books, until the sixth aisle where four figures are standing in the shadows. Bright blue light fills the air as one person is pinned up against the book shelf; their groans and cries echoing through the air.

"LUKE!" Luke's limp form is planted on the floor, stirring slightly as I run over to him. "Can you hear me? Luke, it's me, Clary. Please wake up." I shake his shoulders lightly and his eyes shoot open.

"Clary?" He sits up and I can see blood dripping down from his temple. He sways slightly. "What are you doing here?"

"Don't worry about that now," I say, pulling my blade out of its sheath. "Excuse me a second."

Magnus has one man pinned up against the shelves; his arm locked over the man's neck, holding him there. The man's face is turning a strange blue colour and his dark eyes bulge slightly. Knowing Magnus is fully under control, I turn to the other man who's leaning up against the shelf opposite; his breathing coming in quick gasps and his hands clamped tight over his hip. A dark red liquid paints his hands and I lower my blade.

"Clarissa," He growls. "You look so like your mother."

"Where is she?" I say through clenched teeth. "You took her." A bitter laugh escapes his lips and he throws his head back in mirth.

"Well done. Yes, we took her."

"Where? Why?" He raises his eyebrows.

"You think I would tell you where she is?" My green eyes blaze with fury. "She took something that belonged to your father. He wanted it back."

"He is not my father." I spit.

"You should show him some respect."

"Respect? How can I give the person who killed someone as close to me as a brother, respect? I don't care who he is. He killed a member of my family." I clutch my blade tighter.

"There will be many more now you're back in this world. You bring the danger to people. Everyone you meet is at risk." His eyes flicker to a spot above my shoulder but I resist the urge to turn my back on him and look.

"CLARY!" Luke yells from behind me. "Clary, look out!" I whip around, my blade whistling as it cuts diagonally down through the air. It cuts through the man's flesh like a knife through butter with the sickening sound of cutting paper with the sharpest pair of scissors ever.

"You little-"He curses. I can see a strip of red begin to spread over his grey shirt just below his ribcage.

"CLARY!" I turn around just in time to see the man who I had previously talked to, his sword raised high above his head. It soars down toward me but I block it with my blade, the chink of metal on metal. Locked in a fierce dual, I don't notice the other brother picking up his discarded blade and advancing on the fight with a look of contempt.

The first brother jabs his sword towards my abdomen and I jump back to dodge it, almost tripping over Magnus' unconscious form. The second takes a swing at my neck but it's feeble. I throw a kick at his stomach and he grunts, winded. He doubles over and his sword begins to slip from his hand, so I grab the hilt of his sword and tug it from his hold. I turn the sword over, holding it by the blade, and jab the metal handle hard into the man's temple. He falls to the ground, unconscious.

"CLA-" But it's too late this time. The first brother grabs me around the shoulders and places his sword in front of my neck. The cool, sharp blade digs into my neck and I refrain from yelping in pain. Our heavy breathing is the only sound in the room; the man trying to catch his breath for a moment. I look at the position I'm in from a different point of view; as if I was on the other side of the room.

I'm small. I only come up to his shoulder and my arms are locked against my sides, my sword limp by my side. I have no real advantage over this man in the position I'm in. I need to get out of his hold. If I was more experienced, I would know how to get out of this. But I don't. The demon was just improvisation; it had been the thickest thing I had ever seen, almost killing itself with its own tail. Was this man as dim-witted as the demon I had faced?

"Please," I wail and shy away from the blade. "Please, don't kill me." The man chuckles bitterly.

"What is this? Clarissa Morgenstern _pleading_? Never thought I'd see the day." My hands shake with anger but I try to pass it off as terror.

"I'm not Clarissa Morgenstern. I'm Clary Fray and I never even wanted any of this. I just want my mother to be safe so I can go home." My voice trembles.

"What about my brother? You could have killed him!"

"I may be untrained, but I know that wasn't a fatal blow. It's only above his navel. Look," I thrust my chin towards where his brother lies, slumped on the ground. His eyes flicker to his brother but his hold is unyielding.

"CLARY!" Indie cries from behind us. I'd forgotten she hadn't followed me immediately. Pangborn – surprised - loosens his hold enough for me to free my arms.

"Gahh," Pangborn doubles over in pain and I rub my sore elbow from jabbing him in the abdomen. I'm about to advance on him, to knock him out like his brother, but Magnus appears; red sparks flying from his palms. Pangborn collapses to the ground in a heap.

All is quiet for a moment; my heavy breathing filling the silent aisle. Until...

"Where have you been, Clary?" Luke asks, struggling to pull himself up from the floor. Indie rushes forward to help him up but he shakes her off impatiently. "Jocelyn calls me saying that you'd left and that the trip was off. And then I hear from Indie that you had run off to try and save her. Do have any idea of the danger you put yourself in? Do you know what could have hap-?" But Luke is cut off when I throw my arms around his neck. His come tightly around my waist and he buries his face in my hair, his shoulders shaking slightly. It's only after a moment when I realise Luke's crying. My own tears fall down my cheeks, leaving tracks in the dirt that is plastered to my skin.

"We'll get her back, Clare-Bear. I promise." Luke hasn't called me 'Clare-Bear' since I was... twelve; just before Max died. I remember it clearly now. It was late summer, and I couldn't get to sleep because my mom had given me my first rune and I was in pain. Luke had sat up with me late into the night, watching Harry Potter until I fell asleep, nestled into his side. Luke had carried me upstairs, tucking me into my bed, kissing my forehead and whispering: "Night, Clare-Bear." The nickname had been lost since coming to New York, along with my memories.

"We need to leave," Magnus says and aims a kick at one of the brother's sides. "Before any more of them follow." Luke nods, pulling back and wiping his eyes under his glasses.

"Where are we going?" Indie pipes up. "Back to yours?" Magnus doesn't answer but looks at me calmly.

"Clary?" Luke asks, looking between me and Magnus with confusing.

"The Institute," I say. A horrible sense of nervousness rushes through my veins and I take a deep breath. "I need to see the Lightwoods."


	5. Chapter 5

"You're sure you want to do this?" Luke asks from beside me, his blue eyes looking down at me, unsure. I nod fervently and look down at my outfit. My jeans are torn, stained with blood and splattered with demon poison – or Ichor as Indie had told me on the way to Luke's. My shirt is ripped on the sleeve and I reek of blood, sweat and salt.

"Do you think they'll recognise me?" I ask Luke and he nods.

"Yes. Do you know why?" I shake my head. "Because you look so much like Jocelyn."

"That's not exactly what I meant," I say, smiling. "I look terrible; covered in blood and dirt. Will they see the girl under all of this?" Luke grins and ruffles my matted hair.

"That bright red hair of yours is a dead giveaway," He says and I glower and him. "Come on."

Luke leads the way across the relatively quiet street and stops outside tall wrought iron gates. I peer through the gaps in the bars and rest my cheeks against the cool metal. Just beyond is a magnificent cathedral; a ghostly like glow reflecting off of the windows in the bright moonlight. The moon is low; almost full. My eyes flicker to Luke who raises his eyebrows teasingly.

"Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?" He jokes and I stick my tongue out at him. "Don't worry about that. Full moon was two days ago. It's waning. "

"Is this where you were trained?" I ask. Luke shakes his head, looking at the cathedral with an intense air of sorrow.

"No, I was trained in Idris."

"Idris?"

"Shadowhunter land," Magnus says from beside me. "Are we going to the Sanctuary?" He asks Luke.

Luke shrugs. "No other way, is there? Clary's not going in on her own."

"What's the Sanctuary?" I ask as Indie looks nervously up at the tall building.

"We can't go further than the Sanctuary, Clary. Maryse will hopefully wake up and meet with us." Luke looks slightly green in the moonlight. "I haven't seen her in years. This should be fun." Luke pushes the gate open and walks up to the grand, wooden doors. Placing his hand upon the door, he whispers:

"In the name of the Clave and the Angel Raziel, I Luke Graymark –"The door opens with a small click. "You absolutely sure?"

"Yes, Luke," I sigh, stepping forward and pushing open the door. I freeze on the threshold.

_"Clary, there you are." A younger version of my mother enters the hall with a tall, bony woman, whose dark hair is pull up into a ponytail. She's very pretty, with sparkling blue eyes and dark ebony hair that shines in the early evening light. _

_" Mum!" I cry, running forward and jumping into my mother's outstretched arm. My small body curls up in her arms comfortably. "Hi Maryse." I greet the woman who smiles warmly back at me. _

_"Hi, Clary. Where've you been?" My mother chuckles and settles me back on the floor. I grab her hand instantly._

_"Where _hasn't_ she been, May?" We advance up a grand staircase, taking double the time because I don't step, I jump; both legs locked together as I bounce up with surprising energy. _

_"I was with Indie and Isabelle," I exclaim happily, skipping down the corridor in front of them. "Indie was showing us the fairies in Green Park." _

_"Did you have a nice time, Sweetie?" I nod feverishly. _

_"Can I go tomorrow? Please, Mummy?" My mother takes the time to think about it and sighs dramatically. _

_"What do you think, May?" _

_"I don't know, maybe we should lock her up in Alec's room." I scream in protest and my mother and Maryse laugh. _

_"I can't stay in Alec's room, that's w_eird._" I shiver comically and pout when the women laugh harder. _

_"You stay in Jace's room all the time." My mother points out, pushing open a door. The sounds of metal on metal echoes around the room and I look up to see a younger looking Alec and a tall, athletic boy locked in a fighting position._

_"That's different." I blush. _

_"Clary!" I hear a young boy cry. Jace – blonde haired, golden eyed – rushes across the room and swings me up into his arms. An elated cry rips through me and I giggle. I never giggle. "I missed you today." I notice Maryse and my mum exchange knowing looks. _

_"I missed you too, Jace. You should come with us tomorrow." Jace makes a face. _

_"No thanks." He leads me over to where Alec is now gulping down a bottle of water breathlessly. "Good fight, Zan," Jace says to the boy who Alec was fighting. He has dark, chocolate coloured hair, green, moss coloured eyes and a sunny grin that seems to light up the room. _

_"Thanks, Jace. Hi Clary," He greets me in a strong Australian accent. His green eyes sparkle as I jump into his arms, and he throws his head back to laugh. _

_"Zander!" His name comes to me in a moment of inspiration; the kind I get before I draw. "Did you beat Alec again?" _

_"Sure did, Kiddo," He boasts and Alec scoffs. _

_"It was a draw." I slip out of Zander's arms and gracefully land on the floor. _

_"Whatever you say, Alexander," Zander teases, ruffling the boy's hair. Jace rolls his eyes at me, pulling me back into his side with an alarming urgency. He relaxes when my hand grasps his tightly. _

_"Zander," Robert – Alec and Isabelle's dad - says, entering the Training room with a grim look. _

_"What's up?" Zander walks forward and shoves his hands in his pockets. _

_"We've got a call from the New York Institute," Robert drags a hand through his hair. "Your half-brother was attacked." Zander seems frozen; not quite believing what he's hearing. I run forward and wrap my arms around his waist._

_"Did he survive?" _

_"Zander, he was attacked by a werewolf," Robert explains. "He survived but he's not with it. He thinks he's turned into some sort of monster, or something." _

_"What do I do?" His arms come around my shoulders softly. "Do I go to him?" _

_"If that is what you think is the right thing to do," Robert says kindly. "You remember the way he was the last time you saw him." Zander nods. _

_"I know but Mum would have wanted her son to go to her other son's aid, wouldn't she?" Zander says bitterly. _

_"Your mother loved you, Zan." _

_"Well, she had a funny way of showing it. She always did prefer Jordan. What's she going to do now her precious Jordan is a monster?" Zander pulls away from my hug and storms to the door. "You know what? He can die for all I care. He doesn't care about me. I sure as hell don't care about him." _

"Clary, are you ok?" I nod and step further into the hall. The entrance is brightly lit, accenting the elaborate patterns that decorate the skirting board. There's little furniture, just a well polished table that sits in the corner. On it sits a pile of old newspapers, a forgotten dagger and an old looking telephone. I walk over to the table, tracing the careful engravings on the wood with my finger.

"Magnus?" A startled voice asks from the staircase. I peer out of the shadows; watching Maryse descend the steps in a black robe that falls to her knees. Her black hair is pulled back in a strict bun and her eyes are no longer filled with a joking, freeness. "Lucian! Indie! What are you doing here?"

"It's good to see you, Maryse," Indie greets the woman and hugs her gently. Maryse seems to emit a strict, sad glow. She's a completely different person to the woman I just saw in my memory a few minutes ago.

"Lucian. What are you doing here?" She stares at Luke with a mixture of sadness and irritation. "Where have you been?"

"I've been in the city for the last four years," Luke explains. "I'm surprised you never found me, really. I'm alpha of the pack downtown."

"You never striked me as an alpha, Lucian."

"You never striked me as someone who didn't search for her friends," Luke growls.

"Jocelyn left. That was her choice. She abandoned us. I didn't think she wanted finding." Maryse looks over at Magnus. "Why are you here, Magnus?" She sounds tired, like Magnus' appearance is a daily occurrence.

"I came with her," Magnus replies simply.

"It's good to see you, Indie. But where have you been all this time?" Maryse sounds slightly warmer towards the young girl.

"I've been serving the Seelie Queen for the last three years, Maryse," Indie replies calmly. Maryse looks surprised.

"I thought you didn't want to work for her."

"Things change," Indie says.

"That they do." Silence fills the room.

"How has everything been, Maryse?" Luke asks slowly.

"The kids are out at the moment. You know, at Pandemonium." She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "They haven't been great the last few years, the kids. You know, since Cl- she left." Maryse sighs. "I don't understand why Jocelyn would take Clary away."

"Maryse?" Maryse looks up at Luke with an unfathomable expression. "Clary's memories were wiped." The second silence fills the room.

"Wiped? What do you mean _wiped_? Who would wipe her memories?"

"I would," Magnus said, indifferent. A third silence ensues. Jocelyn's blue eyes blaze with venom.

"Why on earth did you -"

"Jocelyn left England and came to find me. She asked me to wipe Clary's memories of Shadowhunting, your family and the whole of that world. Jocelyn knew that if Clary forgot everything, Clary wouldn't be in danger and neither would your family."

"Wouldn't be in danger? Clary's in more danger if she's forgotten everything, then if she remembered. Jocelyn just didn't want to face Valentine again-"

"Don't you dare," spits Luke. "Jocelyn left to protect her daughter and make sure your family didn't get hurt."

"Well, that didn't work, did it? Alec never talks to anyone. Isabelle hasn't been fighting half as well as she used to. And Jace-"Maryse brakes off.

"Is an egotistical basta-"

"Magnus," Indie interrupts.

"He never smiles anymore. I'd give anything to just see him smile again." My heart stutters. Was all this because of me? "If Clary came back, this family – it would be like the old times again."

"Except I don't remember the old times." I whisper, stepping from the shadows. Maryse stares at me mildly, her eyes looking me up and down. And then her eyes widen and she gasps.

"Clary!" She stumbles towards me. "Oh, my girl." She cries and pulls me into a tight hug.

"It's good to see you, Maryse," I mutter and she pulls back, wiping fiercely under her eyes.

"How much do you remember?" I shrug and avert my gaze.

"Not a lot. But more and more keeps coming back to me. I think I'm remembering things in order, like most recent things first. But I just remembered the London Institute from when I was only six, I think. I remember the important things."

"Do you remember me?" Her face lights up with a hopeful smile and I almost lie.

"Not much but I remember the smell of your amazing cooking and the smell of Uncle Robert's cologne." Maryse looks slightly disappointed. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't be silly, Clare," She says and pushes my hair off of my forehead, looking into my eyes. "What _have_ you been doing?"

"She had a run in with a ravener demon," Indie says.

"What?" Luke and Maryse say in unison.

"She killed it too," Indie adds in admiration.

"With what?" Luke demands, his eyes flickering to the seraph blade strapped to my hip. "I thought your mother had hidden all the blades and daggers?"

"I found this at the bottom of her closet," I explain, twisting the seraph blade through my fingers. "It's mine, isn't it?" Luke and Maryse nod.

"Your mother gave it to you for your twelfth birthday. It was for when you were bigger, more trained. You're the perfect size for it now," Luke explains.

"She looks so much like Jocelyn," Maryse whispers to herself. "But she also looks dreadful! What on earth happened to you after? How did she meet you three?"

"I've been in contact with Clary and Jocelyn for the last four years," Luke mutters. "They," He points to Magnus, Indie and I, "found me being interrogated by the Pangborns." A frown puckers Maryse's features.

"You knew all this time!? Why didn't you try and stop Jocelyn. Why-"

"I was too late the first time because I arrived a month after they did. But even after that I tried. Jocelyn wouldn't listen. She was adamant, she was doing the right thing."

"It wasn't her decision to make," Maryse says bitterly. "Her actions destroyed my family!"

"She didn't want what happened to Max, to happen to anyone else!" I say abruptly. Maryse looks at me like I've slapped her.

"Clary, why don't you go freshen up?" Luke suggests, looking at the floor.

"I don't know where to go," I say.

"I'll show you," a husky, Australian voice offers. I look up at the staircase in shock.

"Zander!" He descends the stairs slowly, gracefully, his expression impassive. He nods politely at Luke, glares at Magnus and ignores Indie altogether. Gone is the fun-loving, jokester I had grown up with. This man is stern, sinister.

"You remember Zander?" Luke asks in shock.

"Yes. Why? Shouldn't I?"

"It's just, you haven't seen him since you were six," Maryse says, all hurt she had previously felt forgotten. "He left to come to New York." So Zander did come to visit his half-brother? He had put everything aside and left his life behind?

"When Jordan was changed?" I look between Zander and Luke expectantly. Zander's dark green eyes meet mine with a kindness I don't expect many people see. He nods.

"I thought you remembered important people?" Magnus says dryly, leaning casually against the wall.

"Watch it, Bane," Zander growls, taking a step towards the warlock. I place a hand on his toned chest and look up at him cautiously.

"I thought you were going to show me where I can go to wash up?" I pointedly begin walking up the stairs, looking over my shoulder when he doesn't follow me. "Zan?" I use the nickname from the memory, hoping this will make him follow. He sighs before following, taking two steps at a time and overtaking me quickly.

He walks ahead of me in a stony silence, his tattooed-rune painted- arms swinging by his sides. My legs strain as I hurry to keep up but my breathing is steady.

"What happened?" Zander turns around so abruptly I almost fall into him. I cross my arms across my chest, uncomfortable.

"Magnus wiped my memories. My mom – she wanted me to forget everything." Zander looks pained.

"Everything?"

"Everything," I whisper.

"How much do you remember of me?" I bite my lip hard.

"You left when I was six. Even if my memories weren't wiped, would I remember you?" Zander looks stricken, a shadow crossing his features.

"I was going to come back," He looks out of the large stain glass window to our right; the city beyond is alive, even at this late hour. To think anyone has a normal life anymore. My life was normal two days ago. His eyes flicker to me and back again. "But Jordan wasn't coping very well. And then Dad turned up out of the blue... If I had known about the trouble everyone was in back home, I would have been there in an instant." Zander looks sickened with himself.

"When did you find out about Max?" I ask, leaning up against the window sill next to him. Zander sighs.

"When the Lightwoods turned up on the Institute door step. It was, what, three years ago? A couple of months after you disappeared." A dark chuckle escapes his lips, and he throws his head back. It would be a beautiful sound – melodic – but the dark glint in his eyes doesn't escape my notice. "I've lived here for nine years. You'd think I'd know if any Shadowhunters turned up in the city."

"But I'm not a Shadowhunter, not really," I argue. Next thing, I'm pinned up against the wall, Zander glaring at me with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

"Clary Fairchild is one of the best Shadowhunters I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. She's one of the nicest too. You don't usually get that with Shadowhunters. Take the Lightwoods. Alec is the moodiest, most ignorant boy I've ever met; Isabelle is a terrible cook with a hot head volcano; Jace is the vainest, most annoyingly persistent boy ever; I'm unstable, unreliable and worth nothing. But you," Zander closes his eyes like he's in pain, "are the purest, most innocent soul any of us have ever met. You made us _nice_. When you left, it's like the sunshine had been destroyed." I throw my arms around him and bury my face in the crook of his neck. He smells like the woods; musky and warm.

"You're not worth nothing," I murmur and his arms wrap tightly around my waist, lifting my small frame off of the floor slightly. He used to do this a lot, my mind seems to whisper fleetingly. I remember.

The room Zander led me to, was surprisingly modern; white dressers and closet with rich purple covers on the huge double bed, and matching curtains. A place as old and mysterious as this, seemed the most unlikely of places to hold a room as new as this. Zander is draped over the bed, flipping through a heavy looking, green book with a bright expression on his face. He seems happier now, less depressed.

"Where should I put these?" I ask, holding out two soaking towels I had just used after my shower. Zander points towards the corner of the room, where a large hamper sits comfortably. I deposit them in the box and return to the bed; perching next to Zander. "Whatcha reading?" He shrugs.

"The Gray Book." I nod. He looks at me. And laughs. "I'm sorry; it's going to be strange knowing you don't know what we're talking about."

"_We're?" _My heart beats erratically in my chest.

"Me, Alec, Isabelle, Jace...everyone." He flips through the book to the very first page. "These are runes." He points to the diagram on the first page. "This is _Enkeli_. It's the Angelic power rune. Every Shadowhunter is given one when they're first initiated."

"This one?" I ask, shoving the sleeve of my borrowed shirt up my arm and pointing at the identical rune. Zander nods.

"Yep. Now, this one..." Zander flicks through the pages, explaining what the runes do. Some I have, some I don't.

"What's this one?" I ask, pointing at a confusing, complex rune. I touch the back of my neck as the scar-_rune_ -there tingles. Zander grins.

"That's the _parabatai _rune," He explains, smiling coyly. "Or the _friendship rune." _

"What's it do?"

"It signifies your compatibility of friendship in battle. If you have a _parabatai_, you're not fighting alone but with your best friend. Your brother or sister in combat."

"So, who's my parabatai?"

"I think you can answer that question," Zander says. "Or maybe you can't."

I pause, thinking hard. "Isabelle?" Zander nods and itches his forehead. "Isabelle is my _parabatai_?"

"You two were one heck of a pair, I must say. Even when you were younger," He chuckles. "You didn't fight demons until you were twelve, but you did study combat and, boy, were you fast. Like smoke through your hands."

"Do you have a _parabatai_, Zander?" Zander shakes his head.

"Nah."

"Can you not have one?"

"Not anymore. Once you're over the age of eighteen, that's it. You can't get a _parabatai _after that."

"Why?" Zander shrugs. "How old are you?"

"Twenty one," He says and stares up at the blue ceiling. "I was twelve when I left the London Institute."

"How long were you in Australia for?"

"Till I was about nine."

"Why'd you leave?" Zander closes the Gray Book and clasps his hands behind his head.

"My Mum remarried a guy from New York and moved here. I didn't like the guy. They had Jordan and I moved to London to be closer to my dad. He was a Shadowhunter. My mum wasn't. They couldn't be together." I nod and for a few minutes there's silence.

"How do I look?" I tug at the tight collar of Isabelle's black shirt Zander had given me. I'm wearing ridiculously tight pants too and knee high combat boots a little like my own. My hair – having just got out of the shower – is slightly wet, but hangs in soft curls down my back.

"Like a Shadowhunter." Zander grins.

"How long will they be?" I say impatiently.

"Another hour at least. The demon activity in Pandemonium is pretty high."

"Well, I'm going to find them," I announce, stubbornly; walking over to the window and opening it.

"You're what?" Zander follows hurriedly. "You can't go after them, you're –"

"I'm what? Untrained?" I say, looking down at the drop. It's manageable, but still wouldn't be pretty if I land it wrong. "I've killed a demon and escaped two psychopathic Shadowhunters in two days. I'll manage." I throw my leg over the ledge and edge out of the window.

"Then I'm coming with you," Zander decides and retreats back into the room to get his blade. He reappears moments later, seraph blade tucked in the sheath at his hip. "Let me do the fighting tonight, Fairchild," he says and I don't even correct the unfamiliar last name he used.

Jace's POV (EEK)

I officially _hate_ mundanes. I hate the way they walk; strutting around the room like they own the place. I hate the way they do that grinding thing in clubs. I mean, come on, how trashy is that? I hate the way they bitch about their friends. I hate the way they start fights. I hate the way they _enjoy_ the fighting. I hate the way they smile at you, like they know something you don't. I hate the way they laugh; fake as Isabelle's fingernails. She's been biting her real ones since she could chew. I hate the way they think they're lives are boring. Trust me; a boring life is a safe life.

"Do you know how much this shirt cost?" Isabelle rages to her brother, emerging out of the store room with a sour look on her face. The ichor blood that stains her shirt (if you want to call that scrap of material a shirt) looks black in the darkness of the club, and she furiously wipes at it – making it worse. "You're paying for this." Alec shrugs.

"Sure," He winks at me subtly and I roll my eyes. "I'll step out for the next one," He says and Isabelle scoffs.

"You're just scared my blade will miss the demon and get you instead," She says. You might laugh, but she's being serious. Anyone who damages her clothes will not be alive at the end to tell the tale, unless it's her brother. "I'm tired. One more then we'll go." I nod, checking over my shoulder for any observers, before tracing a glamour rune on to my arm with my stele.

Isabelle wanders off into the crowd; hips and hair swaying as she walks.

"Jace," Alec says and I turn to him. He has a frown puckering his dark eyebrows and his blue eyes are narrowed.

"What?" He shakes his head.

"Nothing," I raise my eyebrows, disbelievingly, "I thought I just saw – never mind." I'm about to retort when Isabelle saunters past, a tall "man" with turquoise hair matching her light footsteps. For a moment our eyes meet, and then she disappears into the storage cupboard – the blue haired boy slipping in after her, closing the door quietly behind him.

"Good luck," Alec mutters as I finish my drink and grab my blade.

"I don't need luck," I say cockily before following Isabelle and the man into the closet.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Somehow ended up merging chapter 6 with 5... anyways.. I'll put up chapter 7 to make up for it**_

**Clary's POV**

"Where will they be?" I ask breathlessly, pushing open a heavy door and emerging in a dark, crowded room. Heavy music pounds through the room, vibrating the floor and making my body quake. Sweat begins to form on my forehead and I wipe it away impatiently.

"The bar," Zander says simply, and immediately strides over to the far side of the room.

Without losing sight of Zander, I awkwardly try to shimmy through tightly packed people; averting my eyes from people in, let's say _compromising _positions. Zander glanced back over his shoulder and chuckled, shaking his head.

"Your innocence becomes you, Clarissa," He says in a posh voice and bowing his head. I roll my eyes.

"Don't call me that."

"Call you what?" I shove past him and carry on dodging through the crowd until we reach the bar. Worn out, I slump on to a torn and stained stool – Zander sits on the one next to me. "Call you what?" He repeats.

"_Clarissa_. It makes me sound like the great aunt at a family reunion, who nobody wants to talk to. It makes me sound _old_." There's a moment of silence as Zander smiles to himself. But then I see them.

They're sitting at the other end of the bar to us - in a shadier, quieter area to ours. There's three of them; a broad shouldered, boy with dark hair and sparkling, blue eyes; a tall, slim girl with wavy black hair and a skimpy top which shows off her flat stomach; and another boy with golden hair and muscular build. My heart seems to falter as stare open mouthed at them. It's them. It's actually them. They're actually real.

"There they are," Zander murmurs to my right, confirming my suspicions. Isabelle seems to be complaining to Alec about something – gesturing angrily to her top. It looks pretty wrecked. A small smile spreads across my face. I've missed them. "You ready?" I watch Isabelle disappear into the crowd – black hair swishing gracefully as she walks.

"Shit," I breathe, and duck behind Zander.

"What is it?"

"Alec saw me," I reply, edging round Zander to see Alec, whose piercing blue eyes had momentarily widened as they made contact with my own. He's shaking his head slightly, confused.

"He's going to see you at one point, Clare," Zander says. "I thought the whole point of us coming here, was so you could meet them." I sigh. He's right.

We watch as Isabelle returns, a man with aqua hair in toe, and as Jace follows – swishing a seraph blade lethally by his side.

"Why are they going in a storage cupboard?"

"That guy with Isabelle was a demon," Zander says, drawing a rune on his forearm. His eyes flicker to mine. "Just checking you can still see me. Come on." He stands up, stretches, and saunters over to where Alec is sitting.

**Alec's POV**

I take a swig of beer, and prop my elbow on the bar. A girl to my right is eyeing me suggestively and I roll my eyes. I'm not interested, love. Not in you, not in any girl.

"Alec," I hear Zander say from behind me. Surprised, I turn around and narrow my eyes.

"What are you doing here, Zan?" Over his shoulder, I can see a young girl – about fourteen, fifteen. She's petite with pale, porcelain skin and thick red hair that tumbles down her shoulders in thick curls. For a moment, I wonder how someone her age managed to get into a place like this; she's far too young. But then I look into her eyes, and realization hits me like someone hit me over the head with a spade.

She has bright, sparkling, green eyes. Wisdom beyond a fourteen year olds pools in the deep black pupils. I recognise those eyes -eyes that haunt every dream that I've had for the last four years.

"Clary?" I ask, bewildered.

"Hi, Alec," She says, timidly. My heart is unstable in my chest and it flutters feebly. Clary's back. Before I know it, I'm standing in front of the small girl – beautiful and radiant under the glowing light of the club – and I swing her easily up into my arms. Four years seems like a long time – too long.

"Where've you been?" I shout over the heavy bass music.

"I'll explain later. Where are the others?" Gesturing to the cupboard in which Isabelle and Jace disappeared to, Zander walks over and holds the door open for us. "You coming?" Clary asks over her shoulder. For a moment I can see the twelve year old Clary, the last time I saw her: fierce, deadly and ruthless for a girl her size and age, but she had a heart of gold and she hated seeing anyone suffer. The ruthless edge seems to have gone – she seems nervous, gripping her seraph blade a little too tightly.

Maybe she hasn't been fighting for the last few years. That must be it.

**Clary's POV**

I hear murmuring voices from behind a large amplifier, and they sound very loud in the silence of the room. My ears pound with the reminder of the music outside and, behind my eyelids, bright colours swirl and explode like a firework show.

"He told me he didn't want me anymore," I hear Isabelle sob. Alec rolls his eyes and Zander shakes his head.

"It's his loss, baby," A low, husky voice growls. The sound of it sent shivers down my back and made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "I would never do that to a pretty thing like you."

"B-but-" Isabelle stutters, cut off abruptly by her companion's mouth.

"Erggh," Alec moans, covering his eyes. He had been peering round the amplifier, but pulled back with a disgusted expression on his face.

"Got ourselves a mouth-mauler, huh?" Zander smirks. My features twist into a disgusted sneer.

"That's a demon?" Alec and Zander nod. "What is she doing?"

"Deceiving, distracting and demolishing," Zander explains. "Isabelle's the best for the men. Jace is best for the girls. Alec can do either." Wide eyed, Alec whips around.

"Zander!" He snaps. "Not the time or place."

"It's fine," I assure him and he smiles shyly.

"YOU'RE NEPHILIM?" The demon's low voice shouts – breaking the silence. There's a sharp crack of metal meeting flesh, and an ear piercing wail. It's not a human cry, but it makes my heart shudder and my skin crawl.

"Stay here, Clary," Zander says, disappearing around the corner; Alec following.

"Because that's likely," I murmur, and quickly reach for my sword. But I'm stopped when a cool hand grips my wrist, stopping any movement.

"Clary?" I whip around, causing a sharp pain to melt down my back from my neck, because I recognise that voice; smooth, beautiful and heart warming.

"Jace?"

**SHORT CHAPTER, I KNOW. BUT I WANTED TO LEAVE IT ON THIS LITTLE CLIFFHANGER. THANK YOU FOR READING! FAVOURITE AND REVIEW!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Jace's POV**

She's here. She's here. She's here.

These words run through my mind repetitively, as I stare down at the only girl I've ever loved. The only girl I will ever love. She stares back at me with wide, frenzied eyes, her mouth open in a small 'o'. Her red hair is pulled back in a messy bun at the nape of her neck, and all I can think is: She's so beautiful, she's so beautiful.

"What-where have you been!?" I shout, fury overcoming me. I'm angry she has just turned up, looking like a freaking model but like hell at the same time. I'm angry that she's been gone all this time. I'm angry that she hadn't even bothered to come back.

A tortured screech fills the room and Clary winces.

"Stop shouting at her Jace, I almost got hit because of you," Zander announces, appearing with ichor dripping off of his blade. He wipes it off on the corner of his shirt, not even flinching when he sees Clary.

"Y-you knew she was here?"

"Of course I knew she was here; I brought her," He shrugs. Alec appears next, smiling at Clary and replacing his blade in its sheath. A frustrated growl rips through my teeth. Am I the only one that didn't know that Clary had returned from her little escapade? A scream answers my question.

"Hi, Izzy," Clary breathes, winded. Isabelle had almost bowled her over; gathering her in a vice like hug. "Izzy... can't...breathe."

"Izz-" Zander starts, as Isabelle pulls back. He's too late, however; a sharp crack resonates around the room when Izzy's hand snaps back against Clary's cheek.

"YOU LEFT US!" She cries. Her eyes blaze, but you can see she isn't so much as angry, as upset. Tears pooled in her big brown eyes- I hadn't seen her cry since Max died. "You left us," She whispers, before burying her face in Clary's hair and hugging her _parabatai _again.

"This is really very touching and all, but what the hell is going on?" I growl. My heart is screaming in exultation, that Clary is back, but my head – the part I have learnt to act on when my heart began to act rashly and hurt too much when it broke – is angry; angry that Jocelyn took Clary away, and didn't even bother to check in.

A blush paints Clary's pale cheeks as she disentangles herself from Izzy.

"Maybe we should talk about this back at the Institute," She suggests, timidly. "Luke and Magnus can explain some things a lot better than I can." My eyes flicker to Alec. He's gripping his blade tight and his breathing is laboured.

"Luke?" Isabelle asks hopefully. She had always got on well with Lucian for some weird reason. I think he represented the dad she wished she'd had; strong, hopelessly in love and loyal. Her father was weak – not in the literal sense but he was weak mentally. Robert and Maryse thought we didn't know about the affair. We did.

"Fine, let's go," I mumble before making my way through the crowd and out of the club. The fresh air hits me and I take a deep breath. I should be happy. I should be jumping for joy. I should be taking her in my arms and kissing her. But I can't. Every time I look at her, all I can hear is the sound of my heart breaking and feel the tears rolling down my cheeks. How can you trust someone, who hurt you so much?

**Isabelle's POV**

When we walk into the Institute I'm instantly hit with the smell of my mother's cooking. I watch a small smile grow on Clary's face and her eyes close for a moment.

"MARYSE!" Jace shouts, dropping his blade into an old umbrella stand.

"Coming!" My mother appears in the doorway and freezes. "Ah."

"Yes,_ ah_," Jace spits and folds his arms across his chest. "Care to explain?"

"Luke! Magnus! Indie!" Mum shouts. _Wait, Indie?_

"You were meant to be watching her," Luke announces calmly, staring at Zander evenly. He looks the same as he always did; dark hair and blue eyes.

"I'm not a child, Luke," Clary mutters under her breath, stuffing her hands in her pockets. "I don't need a babysitter."

There's a silence. Right, Magnus is here.

"Magnus," I say, stiffly. "How are you?" Hey, at least I'm trying to make conversation. I hate awkward silences.

"I'm doing okay, thank you," He replies. The tension in the room is insurmountable.

"Is anyone going to explain?" Jace asks. Clary shuffles uncomfortably.

"Maybe I should g-"

"No," Jace growls.

"Magnus," Indie says for the first time. "Maybe you should tell them." And so he does. He starts off by telling us how Jocelyn had found him, begging him to wipe her memories and how he had done it every year since. He tells us how Clary had started remembering things; how she started to remember us. He tells us how Jocelyn had been taken and how Clary had fought off a demon with no real training. He tells us how they found Luke – chained to a chair and being interrogated by the Pangborn brothers. He tells us how Clary and fought them pretty much single-handedly.

When he finishes there's a long silence.

"So, what you're saying is that she can't remember anything?" Jace says way too calmly, staring down at the floor.

"I'm right here, and I have a name," Clary mumbles. She's ignored. "I can remember a few things."

"A few things," Jace whispers, dragging his eyes up from the floor to meet Magnus'. "You creep!" He screams and lunges at the warlock.

He throws heavy punches at Magnus' stomach and face – growling and hissing and spitting.

"You're. The. Reason. She. Left. You. Made. Her. Leave. Me," Jace howl s, punctuating each word with a punch. Clary steps forward but Zander grabs her wrist, shaking his head. "You're the reason." And then he's gone; sprinting up the stairs with his shoulders shaking.

"Jace!" Clary cries, looking after him with a distressed look on her face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for causing you all this pain. I'm sorry."

"Clary, it's no-"Zander says.

"I'll see you later," She mumbles and leaves.

"Smooth, Bane," Alec says.

"It was your _Parabatai_ that beat me up. What did I do?"

"What didn't you do?" Alec shoots back, venom in his words. I meet Indie's eyes with a small smile. Some things never change.

Like my love of shopping.

Like Alec's quick comebacks.

Like Mum's amazing cooking.

Like Dad's idiocy.

Like Zander's constant self-depreciation.

Like Luke's good, pure heart.

Like Clary's obvious love for Jace.

And Jace's obvious devotion to her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Clary's POV**

The sound of the knock echoes down the corridor; the only sound apart from the hammering of my heart. My fist closes around the handle and I let myself in.

"Go away, Isabelle," I hear him spit. He's sitting on a window seat, his stele in his hand as he traces a random pattern on the wall. "I said, _go aw_-"He repeats, looking up at me as I walk anxiously towards him.

"Do you mind? I can leave if you want," I ask and stuff my hands in my jacket pockets. Jace shakes his head and his blond hair falls into his eyes. I fight the urge to push it back.

"I thought you were Isabelle," He says into the silence. I smile.

"I know." Sitting next to him, I look out over the city, sighing. "It's so weird."

"What's so weird?" He places his stele beside him, studying my face curiously.

"Not remembering," I shrug. Jace nods, silently – his eyes boring into mine. "Everything here is like a really weird sense of déjà vu."

"That's because you _have_ experienced before."

"I know but I don't remember it," I whisper, leaning my head back against the wall. "I want to remember." Jace doesn't say anything. He just stares at me – a confused mixture of emotions on his face.

"What's so interesting about my face that you feel the need to stare at it that long?" I tease him, grinning.

"I haven't seen it in so long, I'm trying to memorize it," He murmurs and crosses his muscular arms over his chest. "I'm also trying to get used to an older you."

"Is there a compliment somewhere hidden in there?"

"I'm trying to get used to a more _beautiful _you." I blush; a tingling feeling going up my spine.

"I'm covered in ichor and blood and sweat, and you're calling me beautiful?" He nods seriously and I shake my head. "Your idea of beauty is a little strange. "

"You don't know the meaning of the word strange until you've met Magnus Bane." I burst out laughing – throwing my head back and hitting it against the wall. I cry out in pain and Jace snorts. "Smooth, Fairchild."

"Fray," I correct him.

"Fray?"

"Yeah, Mom changed our last name, supposedly, when we moved to America so we couldn't be traced."

"Clary Fray," Jace says, testing the name out. He shakes his head and casts a forlorn look out of the window. "You're still Clary Fairchild to me."

"Can I ask you a question?" I whisper after a moment, spotting Pandemonium in the distance. The neon sign stands out to me amidst the chaos of the city; the Angelic rune dominant in the centre.

"Uh-huh."

"Were we ever anything more than friends?" There's complete silence. I look up at him – watching him as he drags a hand down his sculptured face.

"Maybe we could have been," He mutters. Could have been. As in past tense_. Could have been_ if you didn't forget everything_. Could have been_ if you hadn't disappeared to America. _Could have been_ if you remembered him. "I loved you."

"I loved you too," I mutter. Jace stares up at me with an intense look in his golden eyes.

"Y-You remember?" I roll my eyes.

"I remember a little bit. Some people. Some fights. Some places." I bite my lip – a habit I had grown accustomed to in the last few days. I look down at my hands, frowning slightly, "Mostly you."

One of Jace's hands rests on my knee, his other reaching up to brush a tangled, matted piece of frizzy, red hair out of my face.

"What _about_ me?" He murmurs as his fingers trace my jaw lightly. My eyes flutter under his touch but I remind myself where I am.

"How you would let me win in fights just to make me feel better," I whisper, and Jace grins – the first time I've seen him grin. His thin lips pull back to reveal a set of almost perfect, white teeth, dazzling me further and making my heart stutter. It's nice to see the small imperfection in one of his front teeth though – a small chip probably achieved during a fight. I take his hand in mine, lacing our fingers together. "How it felt to hold your hand. How you looked the last time I saw you." He shuffles closer to me and leans his forehead against mine.

"I was so worried about you," He says. "I didn't want you fighting." He's so close I can see little specks of hazel by the pupils in his eyes and can see the small lines in his forehead he's creating by frowning. I trace the lines with my index finger; smoothing them out. His eyes flutter closed and I let my hand trail down past his temple and towards his jaw.

"I've never hurt so much," I hear him say – his voice breaking. "I never want to hurt that much again. How can you love someone who broke your heart? How do you know they won't do it again?" It sounds like he's convincing himself to pull away from me – save himself the pain – but he doesn't. His hands rest on my waist and his forehead still leans against mine.

"You don't," I reply honestly, watching his eyes open to meet mine. "But I promise you; I'll never leave you again." I think he's going to kiss me and I want him to, with all my heart. But he doesn't. We just sit there; his forehead against mine, his hands on my waist and my hands resting at the nape of his neck. I can't concentrate on anything other than him, and his eyes don't waver from mine.

Peace.

That's what I feel in this moment – blissful happiness.

**But.**

Deep in the realistic part of my mind...

...something tells me that this feeling won't last.

**Third Person POV**

"You do understand, don't you, that this girl... she isn't like any other Shadowhunter her age? She possesses powers beyond what even she knows and, if she learns of them, she will prove harder to destroy," The man says, his hands gripping the back of the chair with so much force, his knuckles turn white and the old wood creaks.

"Yes, Master, but-"

"You understand, don't you, that her friends and family are much stronger than you, or any of your weak comrades?" The young man, standing behind his master, frowns.

"I wouldn't say that's true, Master, I –"The Master turns, instantly cutting off his servant's words.

"Even though I hate to admit it, the Lightwoods come from a long line of exceptional Shadowhunters, Twenty-Four. If you want to survive, you will learn to accept this fact quickly, otherwise you will not survive."

"What about the others? – The Downworlders they seem to be allies with? Surely they will easily be... taken care of?" The servant, who goes by the name of Twenty-Four, is a loyal worker. The Master walks across the room, his long maroon cloak rustling against the floor as he walks.

"You would think," The Master shrugs, pouring himself a glass of blood-red liquid, "But Miss Oakwood is... stubborn – smart too. She will prove most difficult to dispose of."

"Now, the Warlock," The Master continues, his hand gripping his glass a little too tightly, "Is very annoying, very talented and very experienced. He's been on this planet for a long time and knows who he is and knows his powers well."

"Magnus Bane you mean? Why would he fight with them? He's been approached by us for recruitment countless of times but never accepted. What's so special about the Lightwoods?" The Master is silent for a moment; swirling the wine in his glass around and around.

"It is to my understanding that he was the one who wiped Clarissa's memory." Twenty-Four crosses his arms across his chest and frowns.

"So, he's what, paying a debt?" The Master shrugs.

"That," He says, "And Ten was saying she thinks Bane was in a relationship with the eldest Lightwood."

"Was?"

"Yes, _was. _As in: not anymore."

"What about the werewolf?" Twenty-Four questions, his hand coiling into a fist by his side. It had been a long time, but still he sought revenge for what had happened. His blood craved for the death of one of those mutts.

"We know his weaknesses – it shouldn't be hard," The Master says casually, stretching his arms above his head and yawning. For the first time that evening, The Master smiles – a sly, twisted smile that makes the shadows in the dimly lit room, fall on his face in peculiar and menacing ways.

"What are his weaknesses?"

"Jocelyn Morgenstern, of course," The Master says, "And her daughter also."

"So what must we do to win?"

"Break him, what else?"

"So, we kill the woman?" The Master sinks into his favourite armchair by the fire – closing his eyes and leaning his head against the back.

"Oh, no, we already have her," The Master says. "We need the girl. You get the girl, you're already half way there. Her death will break so many people, they'll be begging for death."


	9. Chapter 9

**Clary's POV**

_Whooah, we're half way there  
>Livin' on a prayer<br>Take my hand and we'll make it - I swear  
>Livin' on a pr-<em>

"Shut up!" I cry desperately as I tug at the pockets of my jeans – searching for my phone. "Shut up shut up shut up!"

"What is that?" Izzy pokes her head round the door, eyes resting on me. For a second, it looks like she has forgotten I had returned, but she quickly walks into the room and perches on my unmade bed – silk nightdress rippling as she walks. "Who's calling you at six in the morning?"

"Simon," I whisper when I finally found my phone in my hoodie.

"Who's Simon?" Isabelle asks. I ignore her, quickly pressing the connect button and placing the cool metal phone to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Clary!" I hear Simon's frantic voice answer. "Oh, my god, Clary, where have you been?"

"I've-"

"First, you don't answer my messages. I texted you fifteen times, Clary! So I called you -" I run a hand through my tangled hair as Simon rambles on, walking over to the window and staring down into the street below. Early commuters trample down the sidewalk; heads bent over phones and briefcases gripped tightly in their hands, "– so I went to your apartment. Clary, the whole place is destroyed! I thought there had been some sort of chainsaw massacre or something; there's blood everywhere. So - freaking out a lot now – I went to Luke's."

"Simon-"

"Luke's place was just as bad. It's a book store, Clary! They're one of the most boring, safest places on earth! Is Luke in some sort of gang? Is your mom? Are you? So help me, Clary, if you are dealing dr-"

"Simon, shut up! I'm not dealing anything!" His ragged breathing makes the receiver buzz against my ear. "Meet me in an hour at Java Jones." Hanging up, I drag a hand across my face and throw my phone on to my bed next to Izzy.

"First, what was that about? Two, who is this Simon?" Izzy ask. "Three, is he hot?"

"Simon's my best friend," I answer, opening the closet in the corner of the room. "He's freaking out about the fact I've been missing for three days and there's blood in both my apartment and Luke's."

"You only answered two of my questions," Izzy points out as she walks towards me. She begins sifting through the limited contents of my closet – chucking clothes on the floor as she goes. "This," She says, shoving a tight black top, "And these." She drops a pair of ripped skinny jeans on the floor, "This too." A black, leather jacket lands at my feet. "May as well."

"What's this?" I ask, holding up the belt. Izzy rolls her eyes as she holds jeans and top up in front of me, biting her lip.

"It's a weapon's belt. You can hold your blade and daggers in it." I nod.

"This will look fine," Izzy sighs, pointing towards the en-suite bathroom with an impatient wave of her hand. "I'll get you some breakfast."

"It's fine," I say quickly, suddenly remembering how bad Izzy's cooking is. She raises an eyebrow at me. "I'll make myself something."

"Don't be silly, Fairchild." She rolls her eyes and left.

After quickly showering and changing, I grab my phone from the bed, stuff it in my pocket, and leave. The smell of burning bread wafts up the stairs; a sigh escaping my lips at the thought of having to eat Izzy's cooking. I slide into the kitchen, dumping my weapons belt on the table and sinking down on to a chair.

"Here," She says, placing a plate of burnt bread and eggs in front of me. "Eat."

I slowly place a small piece of toast in my mouth, trying not to gag when it slides down my throat.

"You're actually eating it?" Zander's voice asks incredulously from the door way. "Isn't that stuff poisonous?"

"What did you just say?" Izzy hisses, stepping forward as she brandishes her knife.

"Nothing." Zander sinks down on to the chair next to me, shaking his head when Izzy offers him breakfast. "Where are you off to?"

"I need to meet with my friend. He's worried," I answer, swallowing another piece of toast.

"What are you going to tell him?"

"I don't know. I've never kept anything from Simon." Zander crosses his arms over his chest. "I tell him everything."

"You can't tell him about us," He says. "You can't. He's a mundane. It's not allowed."

"I may as well be a mundane!" I cry, throwing my hands up in the air. Izzy and Zander stare at me, shocked. "It's true," I say, quieter. "I'm just as clueless to this as Simon is."

"Clary, that's not true-"

"It is," I say. "I'm not made out for this kind of life. Maybe I used to be, but I'm just not anymore."

"So, what? You're going to leave again?" Izzy says bitterly. "Break Jace's heart _again_?"

"I can't leave. Not now." I push my chair back, taking my plate over to the sink and dunking it in the water. "I just can't be the person you know as Clary Fairchild. That's not me. I'm Clary Fray."

"They're the same thi-"

"No, they're not. Killing demons, fighting next to you; that's Clary Fairchild. Sketching, hanging out with Simon; that's where I belong."

"You belong with us, whether you like it or not." Alec appears, grabbing the plate from my hand and pushing me to the side. "It's who you are."

"Then why does it feel like I've stopped being me, and I'm trying to be this totally different person?"

"Clary, you don't have to try to be anyone but your-"

"Forget it," I mutter and snatch the weapons belt from the top of the table. "I'll see you later."

"Wait, Clary!" Zander rushes after me, grabbing my arm and spinning me around. "What are you going to tell him? This Simon guy?" I shrug, pulling on my boots and lacing them up.

"I'll come with you," He says abruptly and immediately starts pulling on his own shoes. "I'm not letting you go on your own. Wait." Zander quickly hurries over to the old, oak umbrella stand – snatching something from it and strapping it to his waist.

"You don't have to come with me, Zan."

"Yes," He says, "I do."

"Simon will freak out if he sees you. He'll think I've eloped or something."

He wriggles his eyebrows. "Am I that bad?"I glare at him. "Fine, fine. I'll get Alec to draw a glamour." He disappears into the kitchen, returning quickly – pulling down his right sleeve as he does so.

"You about done?" I say dryly. Zander nods and unlocks the large door; bolts sliding back and clicks resounding through the room.

"Let's go," He says, pushing the door open and leading the way into the early morning rush of New York City.

"You expect me to believe any of that?" Simon asks, mouth open and glasses hanging off the end of his nose. "Clary, that's a load of crap!"

"It's true!" I throw my hands up into the air, standing up quickly from the wooden steps. We had spent the day talking, eventually ending up at Luke's where we watched the sun disappear beyond the horizon. I know I shouldn't have told him but I couldn't help it; he was my best friend after all. Zander had been hissing in my ear the whole time and had not appreciated me ignoring him all day. However, he had eventually accepted my decisions, and had shut up.

"Clary, come on, you're joking right? Please tell me you're joking." He stares at me, probably worrying about my health and sanity.

"Tell him you're joking. Tell him you're joking_," _Zander hisses. He stands to my left, a scowl spread across his face.

"I'm joking," I mutter. "Of course." Simon begins to chuckle nervously before pulling himself up and placing his hands on my shoulders.

"You almost had me there for a second, Fray." He shakes his head. "Demons, Shadowhunters... I was beginning to consider checking you in at the mental hospital."

A soft, menacing chuckle sounds from my right – directly behind Simon. My eyes flicker to Zander who is standing completely still, eyes wide and hand reaching for his blade instinctively. Quick as lightening his hand connects with Simon's temple and my best friend crumples to the floor in a heap – passed out. A flicker of guilt runs through me as I turn back to the sound.

"Zander," I mutter out of the corner of my mouth. "What – What is it?"

"Vampire," He replies, just as a man – no, a boy – steps out from the shadows of the trees. His black, curly hair rustles as he walks. He is only a little taller than me, maybe five foot five or six. There is a menacing gleam to his eyes and, as they run me up and down, a shiver runs through me.

"Zander Shaw," the vampire says in a smooth, chilling voice. I can detect a faint accent – Spanish if I'm not mistaken. "Who is this?" His cruel eyes once again rake me over, and I feel Zander reach for a dagger at his hip. "That won't be necessary."

"I'm not so sure," Zander replies. "What are you doing here, Raphael?"

"I smelt Shadowhunters." A reflected shimmer of light from Luke's neighbour's house bounces off of Zander's dagger. "More than that, I smelt an _unfamiliar_ Shadowhunter."

The way his dark eyes run over me, makes me pine for my blade – for the comfort that holding the heavy sword gives me. I had handed my belt quickly to Zander before meeting Simon so that he hadn't seen me with my knives and daggers and sword and general weapons that might make my best friend call the police on me. My eyes zero in on my belt which is lying on the ground where Zander had been sitting for the last two hours.

"What is her name?" Raphael asks, as I drag my eyes back to his.

"Clary," Zander answers for me. "Clary Fairchild."

"Ah, so this is the girl!" Raphael steps closer – close enough for Zander to step in front of me and twist his dagger through his fingers a little faster. _"__Ella_ _es muy hermosa." _He says to Zander who instantly stiffens.

"You're not welcome here," Zander growls.

"It was only a compliment."

"I know you, Raphael – It's never just a compliment." My eyes once again travel to my belt and I yearn to plunge my dagger into this guy's chest. I take a small step towards the steps.

"Who is the human?" That makes me stop. Raphael's staring, interested, at Simon's unresponsive body. "And why is he on the floor?"

"That's none of your business," I spit, my feet changing direction so that I'm walking towards the vampire instead.

"She talks!" Raphael exclaims. Zander's hand grabs at my arm but I shrug him off.

"Leave," Zander says. "Now."

"No, I do not think so," Raphael says, shaking his head almost remorsefully. Breathing a little heavily, a putrid smell drifts up my nostrils, making me gag slightly. "You see, there are two demons making their way towards you right now. I would like to see how your little friend copes."

"Clary!" Zander shouts as he runs towards my belt. He lunges for my blade, throwing it to me in one swift movement. The sword cuts through the air, landing in my hand easily – sending a wave of energy through its hilt and up my arm. "To your left!"

On instinct, I cut downwards with my blade – instantly hitting its target. My heart hammers faster in my chest as I realise I had killed the demon without even thinking about it. The demon's fake identity (a small man with greying hair) melts away, leaving a creature that resembled that of a maggot – smooth and white with larval skin. As its ear piercing wail pierces the air and its small mouth opens– I see black spikes lining the insides of its cheeks that look suspiciously poisonous. Its body slowly shrinks in on itself; its pitiful screeches still filling the air.

"Clary!" Zander screams again. I whip around, brandishing my blade only to see the second demon advancing, not towards me but, towards Raphael. Chest heaving and heart burning, my legs move towards the vampire before my mind has even stopped to think.

It crawls towards Raphael, who stands, almost bored, waiting for it. Distracted by my pounding footsteps however, he misses the sudden movement of the demon – its pincers flying towards him. His eyes find mine for a split second before I run in front of him so that I'm facing the demon head on.

My blade buzzes in my hand and I smile breathlessly. "Clary!" Arm swinging down, my blade cuts through the demon's torso like a knife through butter – my heavy breathing mixing with the ringing in my ears and the demon's screams.

"Clary!" Raphael cries, bringing me out of my daze. "It's Zander."

"W-What?" I stumble over to my friend who's lying on the ground, his leg oozing a black liquid.

"I – I'll be fi-" But Zander brakes off in a agonising yelp, his eyes closing and fists clenching around his blade. "Quick. In my belt – is my stele."

"Zander, I don't know any runes!" I cry helplessly, dragging his sweaty hair away from his eyes. "Wh-What do I do?" His hand grips mine with surprising strength, his green eyes staring at me with pride and pain.

"I'll go to the Institute," Raphael says. His eyes met mine – and I could almost swear I see a look of gratefulness reflected in his brown orbs.

"Zander-"

"You have to try, okay? You know what it looks like – you just have to draw it here." He motions to just above his knee. "You can do it, I know you can."

With shaking hands, I take his stele from his hand and place it to the place above his knee. As I trace the _iratze _on to his skin, I can hear pounding footsteps in the distance – or maybe it's just my heart, pounding in my ears.

My breathing heavy, I let out a long breath – rocking back on to my heels and staring into Zander's eyes. I lean forward and push his sweaty hair out of his face and his eyes close from exhaustion.

"Thanks, Clare-Bear," He breathes, opening his eyes a little and giving me a lopsided smile. "You did good."

"Clary." Izzy appears by my side, her hand on my shoulder and her eyes wide. "You're covered in blood, are you okay?"

I nod slowly, standing up and retrieving my blade from the ground. "I'm fine. We need to get Zan back to the Institute."

Alec appears, tugging Zander's arm across his shoulders and lifting him from the ground. "Izzy? A little help?"

Izzy rushes forward and pulls Zander's other arm across her shoulders, so his weight's supported between her and Alec, and they begin to walk.

"What about Simon?" I ask, staring over at my best friend who's still lying, unresponsive, on the ground.

Izzy glances over her shoulder and frowns. "Your friend?"

I nod.

"I've got it," Raphael says, walking forward and lifting Simon into his arms. He sends me a small smile before following Alec, Izzy and a weakened Zander. I run to keep up – falling into step beside Izzy who rolls her eyes.

"Do you want to know what happened after you left?"

"What?"

"Jace woke up and began to run round the Institute looking for you. When we told him you'd left to meet Simon he got all touchy and snappy. It was..." She smirks, "...pretty funny if I'm being honest."

"Clary, Simon's not allowed in the Institute. Is his home near here?"

I nod. "Yeah, it's four blocks from here."

"We'll meet you back at the Institute," Izzy says, adjusting Zander's arm around her shoulder. "Look after her Raphael or I'll personally put the stake through your heart."

Raphael chuckles. "I look forward to it, Lightwood!"

The street lamps throw pools of amber light on to the pavement and only a few cars drive past us on our way to Simon's house. I scrape the blood from my arms, trying to clean up as much as possible before I greet Simon's mom with her unconscious son and blood spilling from various cuts and grazes.

"By the way," Raphael says, breaking the silence that had fallen between us, "Thank you."

"What for?"

Raphael sends me a sideways glance and smiles. "Although it would nott have done much harm had it got me, demon ichor isn't pleasant to get out of your system and your clothes. So, I guess what I'm saying is, thank you...for saving me having to bin my perfectly good clothes."

I chuckle, stuffing my hands in my pockets and smiling. "Don't mention it."

"You know," He stares at me, grinning, his eyes lightening slightly, "I've heard a lot about you. But I'd never pictured you like this."

"Like this? Should I be offended by that?"

Raphael chuckles. "No."

"Then what do you mean?"

"I always pictured Jace going for someone tall with dark hair. When I first met them, I thought he and Isabelle were together." He shakes his head and laughs when he sees my frown. "Plus the way they described you, I thought you were some dark and mysterious killing machine, but I was wrong."

We walk for a minute in silence and I listen to the way our footsteps sound against the pavement and Simon's breathing as he slowly regains consciousness.

"You are just not how I pictured you at all. You're beautiful, sure, but there's more to you than that. I've lived a long time, and I've seen a lot of girls...but none like you. "

"Thank you?"

He laughs. "It's a compliment, young Shadowhunter."

We turn into Simon's street and I turn to see Simon almost fully awake. I gesture for Raphael to put him down and he does – disappearing into the shadows so Simon won't see him. Simon wobbles on his feet a little but gains his balance quickly.

"What happened?" He asks.

"I don't know," I joke, chuckling. "We were watching a movie at Luke's and you fell asleep. Do you know how much I had to tip the cab driver to carry you to the car?" I poke his stomach teasingly.

"I don't remember watching a movie," He says and runs a hand through his hair so it sticks up at the back a bit.

"Urm, yeah, we were watching The Terminator."

"Wow, I must have been really tired." He rubs his forehead and yawns. "You okay getting home?"

I nod.

"I'll text you," He says before turning and walking towards his house.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding – turning towards the place where Raphael had disappeared and saying, "You can come out now."

He's by my side in an instant, chuckling when I let out a surprised yelp. I hit him in the chest which probably hurt me more than him.

As we begin walking back to the Institute, I turn to him and ask, "Who's Jonathan?"

"Jonathan Morgenstern?" I shrug, nodding slightly. "He is Valentine's son."

"So he _is _my brother?" Raphael glances at me, pauses, and then nods.

"I do not know much of the Shadowhunter world, but I know enough to say that Jonathan Morgenstern is feared throughout. He and his father do not – how do I put this – have the best relationship. There's a very long, very confusing history that I can only guess at. A story that, if I'm correct in saying, includes Jace, your mother and yourself."

I frown. "Jace? Why Jace?"

"You should ask him," Raphael says, shrugging. "He told me once. Well, a friend did. It is not something I could easily explain."

"What's so confusing about it?" I ask and narrow my eyes when Raphael laughs.

"Oh, Clary, when you find out you will realise how stupid that question is."

_**Next chapter preview: **_

_"Can you tell me about Jonathan?" My stomach clenches, my heart drops to my feet, I let go of her chin and my breathing deeply. Jonathan? Really? She can't remember her life in London but she can remember her arsehole of a brother? That's just great._

_I clench my jaw and cross my arms over my chest. "Why?" _

_"Jace, I want to know," She says, her big, green eyes staring up at me pleadingly. "Please." _

_I sigh, grabbing her arm and steering her towards my bedroom. When we enter, she immediately sits at the window seat where we sat the previous night – curling her legs up under her. I flop down next to her and drag my hand down my face in exhaustion, yawning. _

_"What do you want to know?" _

_"__Everything," She answers._


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N: Last update for the weekend. Thanks for the amazing response to this story - It's really great to get positive feedback and has motivated me to write three new chapters which will be up in the next week. Thank you! :)**_

**Jace's POV**

I stare at the clock on the wall, watching the thin hands slowly counting the minutes that pass. Resting my chin in my hand, I tap my finger on the table impatiently and narrow my eyes when Maryse once again walks into the kitchen and, once again, offers me food. I shake my head and return my focus to the clock.

It's been 720 minutes since I woke up.

It's been 714 minutes since I realised Clary was gone.

It's been 710 minutes since Isabelle told me that she was meeting a boy.

It's been 645 minutes since I walked to Java Jones, hoping to find Clary and bring her home safely.

It's been 620 minutes since I realised she wasn't there.

It's been 600 minutes since I walked back, worry burning in my veins.

It's been 535 minutes since I paced the Institute, waiting for her to return.

It's been 403 minutes since I realised that was pointless.

It's been 402.5 minutes since I tried calling Clary.

It's been 402. 25 minutes since I realised I didn't have her number.

It's been 401 minutes since I went to the training room and tried to train.

It's been 340 minutes since I gave up on that idea.

It's been 330 minutes since I went to the library and tried to practice piano.

It's been 300 minutes since I gave up on that idea too.

It's been 250 minutes since I paced the Institute, waiting for Clary's return.

It's been 220 minutes since Raphael turned up at the Institute with the news of Zan's injury.

It's been 215 minutes since Isabelle and Alec fought with me over who would go to their aid.

It's been 213 minutes since I lost that argument.

It's been 210 minutes since they left.

It's been 209 minutes since I paced the Institute, waiting for them to return.

It's been 122 minutes since they returned with Zan.

It's been 100 minutes since I sat with Zan, recounting his recent fight.

It's been 1 hour since I returned to the kitchen and sat, watching the clock.

So, in all, it's been 720 minutes of me sick with worry.

"She's back," I hear Isabelle say from the doorway – her dark hair falling in her eyes. She yelps slightly when I push past her, my mind only focusing on making sure Clary's safe. I sprint down the corridor, jumping three steps at a time down the staircase, rushing towards the hallway as quickly as possible.

When I finally arrive, Clary is taking her blade from her belt and dumping it in the umbrella stand to her left. Her flaming red hair is matted, once again, with blood and dirt but – where most guys would find it disgusting – I find it oddly endearing. It reminds me of when she would play with Indie and Isabelle in the parks back in London. Where the two other girls hated getting dirty, Clary didn't seem to care. In fact, she usually had pen or mud smudged on her face.

"Next time you decide to go wondering off with a boy, would you mind telling me?" I ask, frantically pulling her into my arms and burying my face in her hair. "I need to know who I'm fighting off."

I hear her chuckle quietly and feel her tiny arms wrap loosely around my waist. "No fighting. It was just Simon."

"I heard about this Just Simon person," I say stiffly, pulling back and narrowing my eyes. "It sounds like you're very close."

She nods, biting her lip. "He's my best friend."

"Uh- huh."

"He's _just _my best friend."

"Sure."

"_Jace_," She snaps, green eyes blazing. "Will you stop? He's just a friend." She pulls out of my arms – my mind instantly registering how much colder I feel without her – and slips out of her blood-stained jacket.

I stuff my hands and follow her – taking two steps at a time so I can catch up with her. "Are you angry with me?"

She sighs, stopping at the top of the stairs and turning to me - shaking her head. "No, I'm not angry."

"You know I just don't want to get hurt again, right?" Her eyes soften and my heart stutters a little bit. She takes my hand and laces her fingers through mine.

"Jace," I look at her expectantly, "can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"W-"She stops herself and looks down at the ground.

"It's okay, you can ask me anything," I say, taking her chin in my hand and lifting it so she's looking at me. Her lips are parted slightly and I want nothing more than to kiss her, but I can't. I can't. I can't.

"Can you tell me about Jonathan?" My stomach clenches, my heart drops to my feet, I let go of her chin and my breathing deeply. Jonathan? Really? She can't remember her life in London but she can remember her arsehole of a brother? That's just great.

I clench my jaw and cross my arms over my chest. "Why?"

"Jace, I want to know," She says, her big, green eyes staring up at me pleadingly. "Please."

I sigh, grabbing her arm and steering her towards my bedroom. When we enter, she immediately sits at the window seat where we sat the previous night – curling her legs up under her. I flop down next to her and drag my hand down my face in exhaustion, yawning.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything," She answers. "Why is everyone so frightened of him? Why does no one want to talk about it with me?"

I stare out the window and watch the bright lights of the cars below light up the street. "The person you really should be asking is your mother."

"Well, I can't," She snaps. "She's been taken, and I think the only way to get her back is if I know about my brother and my father."

"He is _not_ your brother, and he is _not_ your father," I say bitterly. "They have done nothing but hurt you, Clary. They might not have hurt you directly, but they have hurt you."

Clary bites her lip, turning her head away and closing her eyes. "He killed Max. I know that. I know they're bad people, Jace. But why? Why did my mother stay with him? With that monster?"

"Valentine has his ways," I whisper, letting my hand rest on her knee. "He – I think that he, at one point, was charming, I suppose. I think that he was fair and confident in people, nice even. But he had evil intentions. Maybe he thought what he was doing was for the best and convinced The Circle, but ultimately, he was aiming to rule over Shadowhunters.

"As for Jonathan," I make a face – narrowing my eyes and clenching my fists, "He's pure evil. No goodness in him whatsoever. Clary, he's not human –not fully anyway."

"How come?"

"He – _we_ – were given something when our mothers were pregnant with us. As Shadowhunters we have a mixture of angel and human blood which gives us unnatural abilities. Jonathan has demon blood, as well as the normal human and angel, which Valentine gave to your mother when she was pregnant with him."

"What do you mean, _we?" _

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "My mother was also given something when she was pregnant with me. But he gave my mother angel blood." Bile rises in my throat as I breathe in deeply. "Jonathan and I – we're experiments. Your father's experiments. Jonathan is undeniably evil and cruel and bloodthirsty, and I'm good in every way he's not."

"What about me?" She asks. "Have I got demon blood in me?"

I shake my head fervently, taking her hand in my own. "No, no. He didn't know your mother was pregnant with another child when she was expecting you. What we do know is your mother was given something but we're not sure what it is. If it's angel blood, you could have powers. If not, then we may never know."

"Powers?"

"Powers," I confirm, nodding.

She looks down at our intertwined hands, frowning. "Y-You think I do have powers?"

"Yeah, I do."

"And what does that mean? What if I do have powers?"

"Then you can you are our advantage on them – The Circle - in the inevitable fight that will happen. As soon as we get your mum back."

**Third Person POV**

"You will not tell your family. They cannot know about your job and they cannot know you are part of The Circle." Twenty-Four nodded solemnly, his hand dripping with blood – the scarlet liquid falling into the cup positioned under his hand. "This is our secret, meaning you cannot tell a soul. If you slip, you will be killed."

"Yes, Sir," Twenty-Four answered. The Master nodded, satisfied, handing his servant a bandage and dismissing him with a wave of his hand.

"Don't slip up, Twenty-Four. If you do, he'll have both our heads."

"Yes, Sir," said Twenty-Four, wrapping the white linen tightly around his palm and exiting his room.

He couldn't believe he was going to see his family again. After this long, it was strange to see his brothers older and more mature – strange to be going to a new Institute and go on his first mission.

His first mission in the enemy's trenches.

His first mission.

At the New York Institute.

**A/N: Really short, I know, I'm sorry. **

**So, Twenty-Four is about to become a really important character – along with two others. Twenty-Four is one of the three new characters but you won't know which one for quite a while. **

**Keep reading. Review. Favourite. Follow. **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Monday Blues *sigh* **

**Clary's POV**

A week had passed and life went on, albeit a little strangely. Everyone was rushing around the Institute preparing for a new family that was to arrive at the end of the week, and the day had finally arrived. The family consisted of three young men called Jamie, Nathan and Damien. They often travelled from Institute to Institute, however, they had spread out around the world when they found reasons to stay. Nevertheless, they were all arriving this morning and they were all staying in the Institute.

"They've arrived!" Izzy screams from the bottom of the stairs just as I am walking down. "Hot! Clary, they're hot!"

"Who, is, Magnus? I don't think he bats for your team, Iz," Jace drawls, jogging down the stairs and stopping next to me. His hand brushes against mine; shocks spreading up my arm making my cheeks flush.

"Not Magnus, you idiot," Izzy hisses and she hits Jace on the arm, "The Dales."

Maryse enters the hall, walking towards the door and opening it with a welcoming smile. And when I see them, the only thing I can think of is how right Izzy is.

Who I can only assume is the oldest son walks in first. He has light brown hair that is spiked up at the front, and dark blue eyes that scan the room with interest and curiosity. You can see the tendons in arm flex as he puts down a heavy looking suitcase – the back of his navy shirt riding up a bit.

From next to me, Izzy nudges me gently with her elbow.

Next, a slimmer, less broad boy walks in – a tight black t-shirt clinging to his toned torso. He has slightly lighter hair than the first and it's longer too. Immediately his grey eyes land on me, and they narrow slightly as they run me up and down.

Next to me, Jace clenches his fists subtly.

The last son, the youngest I assume, shuffles in; his brown hair swooping into his silver eyes and his boyish smile instantly lightening up the room. He walks with his hands in his pockets and with graceful strides.

"Damien," He says, walking forward with his hand outstretched. I take it slowly, smiling.

"Clary," I reply, shaking his hand before pulling away. "It's nice to meet you."

Jace takes my hand, his fingers lacing with mine, and pulls me gently into his side.

"I'm Jamie," the first boy says softly. His voice is deep but he speaks like he's whispering into the wind. He has a calming aura and it fills the room so much so it's overbearing. Everyone murmurs their greetings, turning to the last boy who is standing with his back against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest.

"Nathan," he says, gruffly.

"Where have you come from?" Maryse asks them, running her hand tiredly through her dark hair. "Am I right in understanding that, Jamie, you were in Italy?"

Jamie nods. "Yes, I was. There was some downworlder trouble there, so I decided to stay and offer my services."

"And, Damien, you're only eighteen, correct?" Damien bobs his head up and down a little, grinning. "Where have you been staying?"

"Seattle. I've been training there for the last three years."

"And Nathan?" There's silence for a moment.

"I've been moving from Institute to Institute around the country," he replies stiffly. My eyes meet Izzy's and I almost laugh at the face she's making.

"Clary, why don't you show Damien to his room? Jace, Jamie's room is right next to yours. I'll show Nathan to his," Maryse says into the sudden silence.

"Sure," Jace says, kissing my cheek quickly – a brilliant blush instantly crawling up my neck – before turning and leading Jamie to his room.

"This way," I mutter, smiling at Damien. He nods quickly, gripping the handle of his suitcase and hauling it up the stairs after me.

"I've heard a lot about you," Damien says, beaming.

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm an old friend of Zander's. I lived in the Sydney Institute for four years. I started my training there."

"Do you have a _parabatai_?"

He shrugs his shoulders, looking at his feet. "She died. About a year ago."

"Oh." Instant regret floods through me and I internally curse myself. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it." He stops mid-stride, giving me a calculating look. "Do you?"

"Yeah. Izzy. I mean, we haven't fought together in a long time. I was, erm, away for a while."

"Away?"

"Yeah," I look away, not wanting to go into too much detail with a stranger. "It's a long story."

"Well, maybe you'll tell me one day."

"Maybe."

When we enter the room, Damien instantly walks to the window, looking down at the street below, dropping his bags by the foot of the bed.

"I'm sorry there's no sea view," I say, watching him carefully. He opens the window and a grin spreads across his face.

"You can have too much of the sea." He turns back to me, chuckling. "Seattle and New York are surprisingly different."

"Why are you so enthusiastic about the view?"

"I like painting," He explains, picking up one of his bags and resting it on the bed. He snaps the catches, opening the lid and standing back to show me an impressive collection of paints. "It helps me think."

"Really?" I ask, frowning. "You don't strike me as someone who would paint."

He guffaws, snapping the lid shut and grinning. "You don't strike me as someone who kills demons."

"Touché."

"So, how long have you lived in New York?"

I'm about to say 'all my life', but I catch myself. "Four years. I, er, moved from London when I was twelve."

"London, huh? You grew up there?"

I nod, tracing one of the runes on my wrist.

"How long have been with Blondie?"

"Blondie? "

"You know," He puts on a high-pitched impression of a girl's voice, his eyes blinking furiously as he pouts slightly, "Tanned skin, blond hair, gold eyes. Total hottie. "

I raise my eyebrows, amused. "Jace?"

"Sure." He shrugs.

"Jace is..." I pause, staring down at my hands and shrugging, "...Is complicated."

"Hm," Damien says, lying down on the bed with his arms behind his head. "What's complicated about Blondie? He likes you, you don't like him? You like him, he doesn't like you?"

"No, no." I shake my head and bite my lip. And then it dawns on me, "It's...it's not your business. I've known you for, like, half an hour."

"A great half an hour, if I do say so myself."

I stare at him, astounded, my eyes wide and my mouth open slightly. "I've gotta... go."

"Wait," He says, reaching out and grabbing my arm. "I'm sorry, I've been told that I'm a bit overbearing sometimes – I come on a little strong. I'm sorry."

I pull my arm from his grasp and nod. "Are you hungry?"

"I'm starving." He grins, slipping out of his jacket and throwing it on his bed.

I lead the way down to the kitchen and enter to find Luke and Indie talking quietly with Maryse. Luke is leaning against one of the counters – dragging a hand through his hair and adjusting his glasses on his nose. Indie is sitting on one of the old chairs with her feet up on the table. She has her long mahogany hair rippling in waves over her shoulders which she is braiding absentmindedly.

"Indie?" Damien asks - disbelief etched in his voice. Indie turns around, rolling her eyes when she sees him.

"Damien," She says, stiffly. "How have you been?"

Damien moves to stand in front of her – his mouth agape. "Does he know your here?"

She shrugs, surveying her nails with puckered eyebrows. "If Nathan's still sulking about what happened, he's more of a baby then I thought he was."

"Sulking? You told him you were coming to get me or Rosalind, but what did you do? You ran away, leaving him to fight twenty demons _on his own!_"

"I did not run aw-"

"-You're such a coward, Indie," Damien says, his gray eyes stormy, "But you're too proud to admit it."

Silence.

"Well, this is uncomfortable," Jace says, entering the room and stopping by my side. He rests his hand on my lower back – a gesture that goes unnoticed by everyone in the room.

"Who's Rosalind?" I ask. Damien's eyes flicker to mine; softening slightly.

"Rosalind's our little sister. She was killed last year."

I frown. "Rosalind was your _parabatai_?"

His shoulders slump slightly as he nods. "Yeah."

"What are you doing here?" A voice grumbles from behind me. Nathan saunters into the room, his eyes focused on Indie who suddenly looks very uncomfortable.

"Nice to see you, Nathan."

"The feeling's not mutual," He says, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. "You should leave."

"No," She states, shaking her head.

Nathan glowers at her. "Indie, so help me-"

"Shut up!" Zander yells, entering the room. His eyes- slightly obscured by his brown hair- find mine and I instantly know something is not right. "It's Simon."

I freeze. Out of all the things he could have told me, telling me something has happened to Simon is the last thing I thought he would say. "W-What?"

"Raphael's here. He'll explain."

I followed him from the room, Jace close at my heels, my head spinning as Raphael came into view. "What's happened to Simon?"

"It seems that Simon isn't entirely human anymore," Raphael mumbles. My mouth falls open in shock.

"You mean, you sank your teeth into him?" Jace spits. Raphael shakes his head.

"No, not me. He was an enemy of mine – he must have seen me with Clary and Simon the other day."

"Where is he?"

"Clary –"Jace begins, placing his hand on my shoulder which I impatiently shrug off.

"Where is he?"

"That's the thing. We don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"Jakob had the courtesy of dropping him off at Hotel Du Mort a couple of nights ago, where he went through the change. When he woke up and realised what he was, he ran off. I haven't seen him since."

"Well, surely he'll come back, won't he?" I try to convince myself.

Raphael shakes his head. "Trust me, Clarissa, a loose newborn vampire roaming free in New York is not good news. If he's not careful, he will end up being killed or caught by the Clave."

"The Clave?" I ask, looking up at Jace. "What's the Clave?"

"It's similar to our government," Jace explains. "They make laws and stick to them. They stick to them, Clary. If Simon attacks a human – or worse, changes them – he will be arrested."

"But he doesn't understand!" I cry. "He hasn't been told any of this. He doesn't know how much trouble he'll be in if he just follows what his instinct is telling him to do."

"Which is why we need to find him," Zander says, handing me my blade with a small nod. "And fast."

"I missed you, Clare." Izzy says from my right, her high heeled boots clicking against the pavement as we walk down the street – her black hair rippling as she moves.

"You too, Iz," I say, a small smile flickering across my face as I search the crowd.

"He won't be in the crowds. He'll be inside somewhere," Izzy says. "It's still too light for him to be out."

She grabs my arm tightly, steering be down an alley and emerging in a small street lined with crumbling buildings and flickering street lights. Two men sit in the shadows, watching us as we walk past with small, sunken eyes. Their small, flea-bitten terrier snaps at my ankles and I quicken my pace, pulling out my stele and handing it to Izzy.

"Can you draw a glamour for me?"

She rolls her eyes, taking the stele and tracing a glamour on my forearm expertly. "The people round here are just as crazy looking as you, Clary, I don't know why you're worried."

"Hey!"

Izzy chuckles, handing me back my stele with another roll of her eyes. We carry on walking down the sinister street – stepping over dodgy looking syringes and kicking pieces of debris out of our way.

"Simon's going to look different," Izzy says, looking down at me, "It's a common trait in vampires – beauty. He's not going to look the same."

I frown, trying to imagine Simon without his glasses or his slightly wonky teeth – or without his lanky build and clumsy manner. How am I meant to be looking for him, when I don't even know, for sure, what he looks like?

"Clary?"

My head snaps up to meet the familiar dark eyes of Kyle, standing across the road – his hands stuffed in the pockets of his navy blue hoodie.

"Kyle? How can you se -?"

He grins, strolling across the street and going to pull me into a hug, only to have Izzy step in between me and him – her dark eyes staring at me accusingly.

"A werewolf?" She says disbelievingly, her mouth agape. "You're friends with _another _werewolf?"

"Ah, so you finally found out, huh?" Kyle smirks from behind Izzy, and I blanch.

"Y-You knew?" He shrugs, an abashed smile flickering across his face. "I've known you for almost _two years_, Kyle, and you never failed to mention that, one, you're a _werewolf_, and, two, I'm a Shadowhunter. What, you couldn't fit into conversation somewhere? Oh, hey, it's nice to meet you, I'm Kyle, a werewolf, and you must be Clary, a Shadowhunter."

Kyle chuckles slightly but stops when I glare at him. "Look, Clary, I'm sorry. When I first moved to the city, I was alone. I joined the band because I was lonely. Simon raved about you, so I said yes to meeting you – completely unaware that you were a Shadowhunter."

"And?"

"And, when I finally met you, I knew you didn't know of our world. The way you held yourself, though, told me that you once did. So, I talked to your mom and she swore me into secrecy – begged me not to tell you. So I didn't."

I open and close my mouth a few times, narrowing my eyes at him. "Luke knew?"

"Luke's my alpha," Kyle says, shrugging. "And my name's not Kyle. Not exactly."

Gaping at him, I ask, "Then what is it?"

"Jordan. My last name's Kyle." He holds out his hand, grinning, "Jordan Kyle."

I push his hand away, shaking my head, "You are such an idiot, _Jordan._"

"I know," He chuckles. "So, what are you doing out here anyway?" His eyes wander to Izzy and he raises his eyebrow. "Who's this?"

"Izzy, Kyle. Kyle, Izzy," I say, pointing at them individually as I say their name. Kyle – _Jordan _ - rolls his eyes when I use his last name and shakes Izzy's hand politely. "Izzy's my _parabatai_. And we're looking for Simon."

"Simon?" Kyle frowns, looking back to me. "Why're you looking for Simon?"

"He's missing," I reply and a worried frown puckers Kyle's features.

"Missing? What happened?"

"Oh, he's a vampire," Izzy states bluntly, almost bored.

"A _vampire_?"

"Yeah, and we don't know where he is, what he's doing or how he's feeling. We don't even know if he understands what's happening."

Kyle frowns, looking down at the cracked pavement and dragging a hand over his face. "I saw him three days ago...are you sure he's a vampire. This is Simon we're talking about."

I nod, "I'm sure. We need to find him but we have no idea where he is."

"Have you tried his house?"

Izzy gives him a sour look. "He's a vampire. A _new _vampire. He's going to be hungry. You think the first people he thought of killing was his family?"

Kyle growls, making me jump. "It's familiar to him. He's going to be scared. He needs someone he can trust."

"He's gone to my apartment."

"Ow, that was my foot, Mutt," Izzy spits from my left, apparently kicking Kyle in the shin when he yelps in pain.

"Izzy," I chastise her.

She huffs slightly, moving ahead – drawing her blade and whispering its name. Kyle slumps along beside me, cursing under his breath. We step over the fallen debris and I flick the light switch on next to the door.

"Simon?" I say into the silent apartment – looking in the kitchen quickly before moving on to the living room. "Simon, you here?"

"Clary?"

Simon walks out from my room, his hair dishevelled and his eyes heavy. His skin is pale and flawless other than the shadows under his eyes which tell me how hungry and tired he is. Where he always had been tall and lanky, he's now tall and filled out. He looks different, but he's still Simon. He's wearing one of his well-worn t-shirts and his jeans with the rip just below his right knee. And even though he probably doesn't need them, he still has his glasses resting on the end of his nose. He's still Simon; he's still my best friend.

"Simon," I breathe, taking the few steps I need to throw my arms around his neck and hug him. His arms wrap cautiously around my waist; his breathing shallow.

"Clary, you can't be with me," He whispers. "Y-you need to leave."

I pull back, shaking my head. "No."

"I'm dangerous, Clary." His head droops, his hair flopping in his glasses. "You don't want to be friends with me."

"Yes, I do," I say, pushing his hair away and nodding. "I know what you are. I can help you."

"You can't help me, Clary." Simon runs a hand through his hair. "No one can help me."

"That's not exactly true," Kyle says, leaning against the wall and looking Simon over with a curious look. "Have you eaten?"

Simon shakes his head. "I can't. Everything I try to eat just comes back up. It repulses me."

"You're not meant to be eating human food, that's why," Izzy says, filing her nails with her stele. "You need blood."

"Blood?" Simon stares at me. "Who's she?"

"Izzy. Simon, do you know what you are?"

"I hope I'm wrong – that this is all some crazy nightmare," He mumbles, hanging his head.

"It's not a nightmare, Simon. It's real." I rest my hand against his hand and he immediately tenses, shaking me off.

"I don't want to hurt you, Clary," He says, moving away from me quickly and shaking his head. "Please leave."

"No," I argued. "We can help you."

"How can you help me? I'm a monster, Clary. There's nothing you can do."

"Please, Simon. We can find you something to eat. You can-"

"Move in with me," Kyle intercedes, nodding. "Somehow, I don't think your mom would throw a party at your new change of species."

I nod, smiling up at him. "Please, Simon." Walking over to him, he follows me with tired, wary eyes. "I can help you."

"Why would you want to help me?" He scoffs and leans his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

"Because you're my best friend. Nothing can change that, Si." I chuckle. "Especially not a change in your diet. I lived with you being vegetarian all these years – not ordering the _good _pizzas - I can live with this. And so can you."

"Why me?" He whispers.

I sigh, looking down at my hands in shame. "A vampire named Jakob saw you and me walking back from Luke's. After you left, I walked home with another vampire named Raphael. It so happens that Raphael and Jakob are enemies." I bite my lip. "I'm not sure, but Jakob bit you and fed you his blood before leaving you on the doorstep of Hotel Dumort, where Raphael lives. That's where you woke up."

"That still doesn't tell me why Jakob bit me," Simon replies, shaking his head.

"It's because you're my friend, Simon," I say. "Because I got caught up in this whole thing, Jakob decided to take it out on you because you were human. He could have come for me but I have protection. I never anticipated anyone to come for you. You didn't know anything, why would he? But he did, because of me. It's my fault."

Simon watches me with blank eyes.

"I'm sor-"

"Clary, we have a problem," Izzy breathes, eyes wide.

"What?"

"Were you aware of a Greater Demon living in the apartment downstairs?"

**A/N: So any thoughts on the Dales? I might be leading you to believe one is 24.. but is it who you think? Also, this is a Clace fanfic so don't get too scared about Damien - I ship Jace and Clary too much :D Review. Favourite. Follow. **


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Sorry, there might be a little confusion here. To avoid repetition, I've skipped the fight with the Greater Demon.. sorry if this annoys anyone, I'm just not great at variation with fight scenes - hopefully I can save ideas for the bigger fights. Thank you! :)**

**Izzy's POV**

"Stupid, mutt," I spit, holding a cloth to Clary's wound. "You could have gotten her killed."

"You've told me at least ten times," He replies - pacing back and forth and running a hand through his hair as he tries calling Luke. "Goddamit, pick up!"

"Try calling Jace." I shove my phone into his palm, "See if he kills you before I do. Speed dial two."

"What do I tell him?"

"Tell him you almost got the love of his life slaughtered by a greater demon."

Simon stands by the door, his fists clenched and his eyes dark as he looks over the scene in front of him - eyeing up Clary's wounds with confusion and worry. From here I can see him properly for the first time. He's tall and lean with dark hair that hangs carelessly in his eyes. Good looking... for a leech.

I try to draw a iratze on Clary's stomach but it disappears almost instantly - the blood continuing to ooze from the gashes as she turns paler. "We need Magnus. The iratze isn't working."

"Clary? Izzy?" A panicked shout comes from downstairs followed by heavy footsteps hammering against the stairs. "Clary?"

Jace.

Simon, stepping away from the door in alarm, backs up against the opposite wall - his dark eyes focused on the door. The werewolf drops my phone into my lap, kneeling down beside me to hold his hands to Clary's wound as Jace, Zander and Alec rush into the room.

"What happened?" Jace demands as soon as he sees Clary - falling to his knees beside her and pushing her hair back from her face gently. "What. Happened?" He growls, looking up.

"Greater demon."

"I gathered from the panicked calls and texts," He drawls, glaring at me. "What I want to know is why Clary is lying on the floor, bleeding to death."

"That's my fault," the werewolf says and Jace directs his glare to him. "I didn't realise she was so close when I killed it. It lashed out in anger and hit her."

"Who are _you_?"A new voice asks.

"Jordan. Jordan Kyle," the werewolf says, looking up and then freezing when he sees Damien - his mouth hanging open a little.

"Y-You're Jordan Kyle?" Damien asks with horror written across his face. "W-What..."

"Can you two stop your little reunion and actually help?" Jace hisses, looking up at Alec. "Is he answering yet?"

Alec shakes his head, his phone cradled between his shoulder and his ear and he desperately tries drawing an iratze on Clary's skin - cursing under his breath when it keeps disappearing. "He was at a meeting today."

"She won't make it if we don't get her to Magnus soon," Zander says and picks up Clary's blade. "We need to get her back to the institute."

Jace nods, gently pushing his hands underneath Clary to lift her up - one hand on her back, the other under her knees. "Keep calling Magnus."

"Why is it always Clary who gets herself into these things?" Zander mumbles from beside me, shaking his head.

"She's forgotten everything," I reply, picking up Clary's discarded blade. "She doesn't know how to properly defend herself."

"Then we need to train her again, don't we?" Jace says - his eyes glinting with worry and panic. "Otherwise this will keep happening... and I don't know how much more I can take of watching her suffer."

**Clary's POV**

_"Do you love me?" I ask._

_He stares back at me with his heart-breaking honey eyes - his hair tousled and his mouth turned up at the corners in a soft smile. "Of course I do." _

_"But you love the old me, not the new me," I whisper. _

_"I love _**you**_," he says softly, trailing his fingers along my cheek. "The old you and the new you are the same person. They have the same face and the same laugh and the same smile. They have the same crease between their eyebrows and the same scar above their left eyebrow from a fight with a demon when they were ten. They are the same person. I am in love with _**you** _- old _**and** _new." _

_"Clary?" _

_I look over my shoulder and Jonathan is standing there with his platinum hair, gleaming in the sunlight - his dark eyes shining with malice as he steps towards me_

_"Clary." _

_Jace grabs on to my elbow protectively but Jonathan snatches my hand - tugging me towards him. I'm like the rope in a game of tug-of-war, and my head hurts with the panic coursing through my veins. I struggle in Jonathan's hold and I try to pull my hand from his iron grip. _

_"Clary," Jace says. "Clary, wake up. Wake up."  
><em>

"Clary?"

My eyes slowly flutter open - taking in my surroundings with confusion, causing my eyebrows to scrunch up.

The first thing I'm aware of is that Jace is sitting on a chair beside the bed I'm lying on. He's sitting on the chair backward so his chin is rested on the back as he watches me; his amber eyes roaming over my face with worry.

The second thing I realise is that a shooting pain is boiling across my torso like a comet - burning up and distracting me from focusing on anything else. I wince a bit as I try to prop myself up so I'm in a more comfortable position and hiss through my teeth.

"Careful," Jace warns, moving his hands to support me in any way that he can but they end up uselessly hovering over my stomach. He drops his hands back to his sides, sighing softly.

"W-" I wince. "What happened?"

"You had a run in with a Greater Demon," he says softly, pushing hand through his hair. "You got hit."

I pick at the threads on the sheet, biting my lip a little. "And Simon?"

"He's with the pack... there was a ... misunderstanding," He says, carefully picking his words.

"A misunderstanding?"

"Between Jordan Kyle, Jaimie and Zan," Jace explains.

"Jaimie?" I frown. "Why?"

He sighs, rubbing his forehead a little and sighing - he looks tired. "Some history. But I'll tell you later, okay?" I go to protest. "At the moment you need to rest."

"I want to know," I complain - my eyebrows puckering with confusion. "Why were they arguing?"

He sighs. "Jaimie's ex-girlfriend, Maia, used to be Jordan's girlfriend too. When Jordan was changed he lashed out in jealously at the Dales' parent's and younger sister." His expression turns sad as he stares down at my hand and takes it in his gently. "There was nothing they could do."

"J-Jordan killed them?" I whisper. "B-But..."

"Jordan wouldn't on purposely hurt anyone. That's what Luke's trying to clear up," He says. "But the Dale's are threatening to leave if we don't sort it out."

I frown. "And how does Zan come into this?"

"Jordan and Zan are half brothers," Jace explains, raising his eyebrows.

Of course.

That memory I had when I stepped into the Institute for the first time and I remembered Zan receiving the news that his brother, _Jordan, _had been changed into a werewolf. I just hadn't made the connection.

"So, Zan was backing him up?" I guess and raise my eyebrow.

He nods. "It happened two years ago. The Dales were furious; wanted Jordan to be arrested and Zan to be stripped of his runes but we couldn't let that happen. Jordan was in prison for half a year but we had to vouch for him in front of the Clave and promise it was an accident. The werewolf owes us."

"He has a name, Jace," I say softly, frowning with disapproval. "And he's my friend."

"Clary," He whispers, shaking his head and stroking my cheek lovingly. "Jordan Kyle doesn't make friends. He makes enemies. Make sure you're not one of them."

**Unknown POV**

I sit on my bed with a small sigh - pressing the green call button and balancing the cell phone between my shoulder and ear as I undo my shoe laces.

"Twenty-four," he says on the other line; his voice deep and chilling. "The girl. Is she there?"

"Yes, she's here."

"Have you had a chance to talk to her?" He presses. "Is she aware of her power?"

"No, not that I know of," I reply.

"It's very important you find out soon or he'll have both our heads."

I fall back against the covers and drag a hand over my face - closing my eyes with exhaustion. "I know, I know. You've told me at least a hundred times before."

"Well, don't you forget it," He snaps. "Now..."

My mind wanders to the fight earlier. How pale Clary was. How Jace was refusing to leave her side. Once again, a werewolf was the source of the problem.

Jordan Kyle.

"...and then I need you to go to Alicante. Fifteen will be there waiting for you. She doesn't like people who are late."

"I hate Fifteen," I growl, narrowing my eyes as my hand tightens around the phone. "She's deceitful and-"

"- a good agent," he cuts in, "And don't you forget it."

"How could I forget the girl I was in love with?" I spit. "I'll be there. But don't expect me to go to her funeral if my blade 'accidentally' sinks into her chest."

"Good."

I hang up - burying my face in my pillow and groaning.

Time to see _her _again.

Great.


	13. Chapter 13

**_A/N: Really short but I owed you an update. Thanks for everyone who keeps reviewing and favouriting this story, it means so much to me :) _******

Indie's POV

**_Sent: 14th August, 22: 18_**

**_To: Nathan Dale_**

**_From: Indie Oakwood_**

_You could have warned me you were coming to the city. I would have stayed away. I know you don't want to see me. Your family definitely doesn't want to see me... I'm really sorry about Rosa._

**_Sent: 15th August, 05:07_**

**_To: Nathan Dale_**

**_From: Indie Oakwood_**

_I'm sorry. Please. I think we should talk. I want to talk to you. I need to talk to you. Please? _

**_Sent: 15th August, 12:25_**

**_To: Nathan Dale_**

**_From: Indie Oakwood_**

_I know you're ignoring me._

**_Sent: 15th August, 13:42_**

**_To: Nathan Dale_**

**_From: Indie Oakwood_**

_A little acknowledgement would be nice, Dale. _

**_Sent: 15th August, 14:58_**

**_To: Nathan Dale_**

**_From: Indie Oakwood_**

_Fine. I've tried and tried, Dale, but it's obvious my attempts at trying to apologise are not good enough for you. I know a lost cause when I see one. You won't be seeing me again - I promise you. _

**_Sent: 16th August, 02:03_**

**_To: Nathan Dale_**

**_From: Indie Oakwood_**

_I miss you. _

**_Sent: 16th August, 02:05_**

**_To: Indie Oakwood_**

**_From: Nathan Dale_**

_I miss you too. _


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** **I'm sorry, it's short but I figured it was better than nothing. I've been really busy with a drama production and have had literally zero time to think of anything else but hopefully I'll have more time to write now it's over. Thanks for sticking with me and please Favourite/Review. **

**Twenty-Four's POV**

Moonlight's the only source of illumination in the clearing. It casts strange shadows on the long grass, damp with dew - the water droplets shimmering in the ethereal light. I have to squint a little to see her, but she's there; standing on the other side of the clearing, leaning against a tree as she admires her nails with a bored expression. Her long, dark hair is pinned into a low braid which falls down one side of her head. She's beautiful. I hate her for it.

She looks up as I approach - her brown eyes reflecting the sky, over cast by the shadows of the trees overhead. A small smirk flickers across her face and I narrow my eyes at her.

"Let's make this as quick as possible, agreed?" I sigh, taking my blade and running it through my fingers - feeling oddly satisfied when she stiffens a little as the silver reflects the moonlight.

"Couldn't agree more," She says in a soft, drawling voice. God, she's so beautiful. God, I hate her so much.

She kicks off of the tree she's leaning against and walks forward, hips swaying. She's wearing tight black jeans and a black lacy top under a leather jacket. Her subtle make-up is flawless to the point, only one who knew her well would know she was wearing any at all.

"So," She walks around me in a circle, looking me up and down from head to toe. I shiver a little under her stare, "How have you been?"

"Stop the niceties. We have a job to do," I say harshly. Clenching my jaw, I turn around and cross my arms across my chest. "And I want to get it done as quickly as possible, so I can go home and never see you again."

"Home? What, the New York Institute?" She laughs. "Please. You don't have a home. You never needed one. You're a lone wolf."

"Coming from the werewolf who's never had a real family, and never wanted one!"

"I wanted you!" She cries and then she falls silent - her dark eyes dropping to her feet as she clenches her hands into tiny fists at her sides. "But you had a family."

"_Had _being the choice word there," I spit. "Because of you, my parents and little sister are dead."

"You still have your brothers. Don't feed me bullshit about how you have no family. You don't know what it's like to be alone," Her eyes shine and a wave of guilt washes through me, but it's quickly replaced with anger.

"And _you_ don't know what it's like to lose somebody you love."

"I lost you," She snaps, a tear rolling down her cheek which she brushes away. "I'm not the monster you think I am. I might be a werewolf, but it doesn't change the way I feel about you."

"Jordan still loves you," I say in monotone.

She shakes her head with a scoff. "Since when have you cared about Jordan Kyle's feelings?"

"I don't. But maybe he's better for you." I stare at the ground and grit my teeth, "You are the same species after all."

"I wouldn't want to be with him anyway. He killed Rosalind, and you know I loved her like she was my own sister." She digs the toe of her black combat boots into the earth beneath our feet. "You're scared. You're scared of werewolves because they remind you of what happened. But Jordan lost control; it happens. And I'm sorry that I was the reason behind it, but you cannot ignore my feelings for you because of it."

I look up at the sky and shake my head, clenching my jaw. "I can't ..."

She nods her head and bites her lip. "Perhaps we should re-schedule for a week's time." She looks down, "I think we both need to clear our heads a little."

"Same place?" I ask quietly and she murmurs a small 'yes' back. "Okay. I-I'll see you then.." Pushing my fingers through my hair, I turn to leave - freezing when a small hand is placed on my back.

"Kiss me," She whispers as I turn my head to watch her in my peripheral vision. "Please."

I turn around completely, looking down at her and slowly bringing my hand up to brush my thumb across her cheekbones. She leans into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed as she turns her head to kiss my palm - sighing softly.

"I can't. I'm sorry," I whisper, letting my hand fall from her cheek before quickly turning on my heel and walking away - telling myself not to look back.

**(A/N: Figured out who he is?) **

**Indie POV**

I knock. I wait with bated breath.

"Come in," he calls in his gruff, husky tone. I swallow the lump in my throat, moving my hand to clench around the door knob and turning it - taking a shaky step forward as I push the door open.

"Do you mind?" I say softly, poking my head round the door and biting my lip as he looks up at me. He nods and I enter.

He's lying on his bed, a book rested on his chest which he quickly shuts and chucks on the bedside table when he sees me.

"C-Can I help you?" He asks, sitting up and then doing the most adorable thing: blushing. Nathan has a hard exterior, one that only his family and myself can see through. Since his sister's death, his aggression and stand-offish nature has only got worse, but I know his kind side. And I fear that I'm the only one now who can find it.

"No, I-I just wanted to talk." I sit down on the edge of his bed and look down at my hands - the green tinge of my skin not so obvious in the dim light of his room. "I-I got your text."

He nods and tentatively moves his hand to the small of my back. I freeze. "I meant it .." He whispers and I turn to look round at him.

"I meant it too," I say as he moves his hand up to pin a piece of hair behind my ear - his touch making the hairs on the back of my neck raise as a shiver runs down my spine. His actions are cautious, almost anxious, as he moves to cup my cheek and brushes his thumb over my cheekbones. "Are .. are you scared?" I whisper.

"Terrified," He replies, and then he kisses me.

It feels _right_.

It feels good.

It feels like coming home.

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed Indie and Nathan's little scene here. I hope to write more for them but maybe they'll just have outtakes at the end of the story. Debating over who will be alive at the end of this story .. that's a bit of a grim thought. Have a nice weekend! **


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